


Captain America: Retribution

by Entropyrose



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied Stony - Freeform, M/M, Mindfuck, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stucky - Freeform, Top Brock Rumlow, Top Steve Rogers, angry!Tony Stark, not safe for work, okay there is some fluff, there is nothing fluff about this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8403790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: Taking place directly after Captain America: Civil War. If I directed the next Marvel movie, it would go just like THIS. (porny parts included) Just days after Steve breaks out Team Cap, someone has taken Bucky from his cryogenic sleeping cell in Wakanda, murdering everyone present in the process. With no Quinjet, no Tony, and only half a team, how will Steve save him?OR, Hiding from S.h.i.e.l.d. and the entire world is not even HALF of Captain America's Problems.





	1. "Epilogue"

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a WORK IN PROGRESS, however, I have just outlined it in its entirety and plan on seeing it through to the end.

~Epilogue~

 

Next time he woke up, Bucky swore it would be different. 

Next time he woke, he would take a big yawn and stretch deeply, maybe even lazily. His tingling fingers would wipe away beads of condensation from the frosted glass chamber to reveal the sparkling blue eyes of the man he adored, who adored him back. Maybe they would even go out for breakfast? That would be nice. Bucky would order a giant glass of orange juice and easy-over eggs with a stack of pancakes drenched in maple syrup. They would eat outside, even if it was mid-January and the snow was falling down, because it would be outside and it would be beautiful—the traffic, the sunlight glittering through the trees, white puffs of breath curling around Steve’s full lips as he teased Bucky about how fast the coffee was freezing.

They were going to fix him, Bucky thought. They were going to fix him and send him back to Steve as a whole, functioning person. And they would go get breakfast. 

But this time, he didn’t wake up to the tingle of his arms and legs as they de-thawed—there was no soft hiss of the chamber doors as the capsule was raised, no muttering men in crisp lab coats or the distant tapping of computer keys or beeping of monitors. And Bucky’s heart dropped out of his chest when his eyes fluttered open to find…there was no Steve.

He wasn’t upright, either. The ceiling was rounded and gray and looked like how he imagined the inside of a whale to look. He was lying on a cold, hard slab in the middle of the chamber, wincing as the mechanical buzzing noises and the beating of helicopter wings assaulted his ears. 

“He’s waking up!,” he heard someone in the mid-distance shout, followed by scurrying and the sound of a thousand ammo packs bouncing against heavy, armor-clad legs. The sounds were all new, but the scent of the man who knelt beside him made his stomach churn. His hair was grabbed roughly, right by the nape of his neck, as his head was turned into the smell. Gun-grease, engine oil, burnt black coffee…

“Ya with us, princess?” 

He jolted upright, his head spinning and sending him back down to the slab in a rumpled mess, his head between his knees. 

“Whoa, whoa. Take it easy.” 

A gloved hand reached to steady him and Bucky shoved it away with the only hand he had. “Geh..…get away from me.” 

The deep, familiar chuckle made him visibly shudder. He had just awakened and could barely keep his composure let alone hide his shock. The man in black stealth fatigues addressed the crew behind him. “Just like the good old days!,” He barked with a toothy grin that crawled right under Bucky’s skin and stayed there. The crew had a good laugh while Bucky shoved the hair out of his face. 

A smudge of black paint appeared on his fingers and he examined it with wide eyes. “What..?” 

“You did good, kid. Even without the metal arm. “ Bucky received a slap on his back that was unnervingly friendly as the man stood from his crouched position and tended to the front of the plane. 

There was one small window that let light in through its foggy, scraped-up pane. Clouds scraped by. They were airborne. 

Bucky strained to take a second look at the man, but he was now facing away, partially masked by a large padded headset. “10-4, Novi-13. This is Heli-Carrier 7. Requesting permission to land.” 

It couldn’t be. 

Bucky wasn’t there to see it, but he heard the story right from the source. Steve had watched as he had set himself ablaze in the force-field created by the Scarlet Witch. He had been there. They all had been there. Watched him die. 

Bucky rubbed his eyes, more black paint transferring to his hand and fingers and covering him with the stuff. He let out a rough cry. 

There was nothing he could do. Reawakened into the same nightmare. It just kept repeating. Except, it was no nightmare. 

This was his reality. 

* * * * * 

“What do you mean, THEY TOOK HIM?” Steve’s fist sailed straight through the wall, the boards and windows shuddering, knocking doors of its hinges. 

“Easy,” Wanda said, her hand hovering close to Steve’s shoulder, eyes wide. 

“I want answers! Is T’Challa---?” 

Wanda could only guess that the man on the other end of the phone had just delivered the worst possible news in Steve’s life. Judging from the hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks, she was right. Steve’s usually soft, inviting features were mangled and red, and she quickly retreated to the other side of the room when Steve’s fist found yet another wall. 

Steve put a hand on his hip, his shoulders relaxing just the slightest. “Well, I am glad he wasn’t there in the midst of the fighting. Did you notice any badges or symbols?” Steve sighed through a small pause, wringing out his drywall-powdered wrists while cradling the phone between his neck and shoulder. “ I need something to go on, here.” 

The conversation after that was brief and muted. Steve snapped the phone closed and collapsed onto the couch. 

“Is it Bucky..?” Wanda now dared to lightly touch the hem of Steve’s tee-shirt, sliding a knee onto the arm of the sofa as she kneeled over him. 

Steve ran a hand down his face, streaking tears all the way down till they dripped from his chin. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice shaking. 

“Do…do they know who?” 

Steve shook his head. “They’re transferring the footage to me now.” He glanced up into her kind, quizzical eyes and choked out, “They’re all dead, Wanda. Every one of them. All this, just to get to Bucky.”  
His head disappeared between his hands, again, fingers interlacing and pulling roughly on his short blond spikes. “I never should have sent him so far away. I never should have let him…” 

“NO, this isn’t your fault.” Wanda caught Clint standing in the doorway and nodded him in. “Some assholes broke into the Wakandan Cryogenics Lab and took Bucky,” she explained, her voice nearly a whisper. 

“Shit,” Clint breathed. 

What were they going to do? The words didn’t have to be spoken. The desperation was so clearly felt among the small group, who were themselves hiding among the shadows of society. With no QuinJet, no manpower, no Shield to back them up, and half of their team heralded as the heroes of a new, subdued vigilante alliance, any hope of finding Bucky was dashed. Let alone successfully retrieving him with little or no casualties. 

“You’re not going to do anything,” Steve spoke up finally, his head lifted, his mercurial eyes flickering with renewed resolve. 

“Steve Rogers,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. 

The group turned to see Natasha, her red hair peeking out in wisps beneath a wide-brimmed hat. 

“You’re not thinking of going on a mission without me, are you?” She grinned softly, leaning one shoulder on the doorpost. “I see you already started redecorating.” Her green eyes wandered around the broken apartment. “Your neighbors aren’t happy with the noise.” 

“Tosh,” Steve sighed, springing up from the couch to throw his massive arms around her doll-like frame. His hug launched her off her spiked heels, her feet dangling in the air. 

“I know,” she muttered into his collarbone, rubbing his back. “We’ll get him back. We always do.” 

Steve set her down carefully before wiping a new tear away with his fist. “We do, don’t we?” He forced a bittersweet smile. 

“/Always/,” she promised. 

* * * * * 

“It ain’t much, but it’s home.” Rumlow slapped a huge black duffel down on the solid wooden table, stretching his arms out across the picturesque horizon shining through the wide bay window. There was a small wooden boat tied to a rickety dock. This cabin was roomy—easily three times the size of the wooden shacks that Hydra usually had them run their operations out of. He spun around proudly, puffing out his chest, white teeth glinting in the sunrise. “And it’s all yours,” he added. A quick stride brought him inches away from Bucky, hand outstretched. Instinctively, Bucky stepped back. “Awww, come on, now. Don’t be like that.” He grasped hold of Bucky’s hand, squeezing unnecessarily tightly, pulling him to his side. “Here,” he muttered, wiping a thumb down Bucky’s face, cleaning away some of the smudges of black. “You don’t like it?” 

Bucky’s eyes were made of glass. He stared blankly into Rumlow’s. Part of him didn’t want to believe that this was indeed Crossbones, the notorious mercenary, who had literally exploded in a blaze of fire not a month before. And the other part…

“It’s /me/,” Rumlow assured him, a gloved hand cradling the side of Bucky’s face. “And this is /ours/.” He gestured once again to the bay window. He traced a finger down Bucky’s jaw absentmindedly. “Missed you,” he murmured, his lips closing in on the nape of Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky shivered. 

Rumlow pulled away, practically jovial as he plucked a bottle from the fridge and cracked it open on the edge of the marble countertop. “Beer?” he wiggled it in front of Bucky’s blank stare. “Suit yourself.” He knocked it back in two large gulps as his crew piled luggage in—case after case of ammo, high-powered weapons and a few pieces of bulky technology that Bucky didn’t recognize. The men threw cautious sideways glances Bucky’s way as they shuffled past, keeping to the far wall and out of Bucky’s immediate reach. “S’aright boys,” Rumlow said over his shoulder. He and Bucky took turns glaring at one another. “As long as I’m around, he’s as harmless as a puppy.” 

Bucky shuffled into the bathroom and locked the door before he started gasping for air. He clasped the sink in an iron grip and willed himself to look into the mirror. His reflection was marred by the greasy black markings on his face. Looking back at him, with eyes of glittering ice, was the markings of a black skull outlining his features. With a war-cry his fist connected with the mirror, shattering it into a thousand tiny shards. As the blood ran red down his now swollen, cut-up hand, a thousand tiny skulls grinned back. 

Within seconds, Rumlow was there, stripping his own t-shirt off to cover the blood, cupping Bucky’s face with his free hand, murmuring soft words. The kind of reassuring words that made Bucky sick and happy at the same time, stroking back the tendrils of his hair with calloused fingers, and methodically shushing him. “S’okay, baby. Shh. It’s okay. I’m here now.” 

Bucky felt the “release” button in the back of his throat working overtime, but instead of vomit he only dry-heaved as he fought to free himself from the all-too-familiar touch. 

“HEY,” Rumlow barked suddenly, steeling a grip over Bucky’s ear, his eyes and nostrils flaring. “STAND DOWN.” 

Could have been one of his trigger words, it worked so fast. The spark went out of him and his arm just flopped to his side obediently, mindlessly. 

“Good boy…shh…good boy…” The face-stroking started up again and Rumlow pressed his forehead to Bucky’s. He was softer than Bucky remembered it being—Rumlow looked younger, too. His skin seemed a little tighter and stretched thicker over his jawline, his hair a little darker. “I came back for you, you know that?” He pushed Bucky back into the bathroom counter, his hand dropping to Bucky’s waist, giving his belt a little tug.  
His mouth came closer and Bucky’s dropped open immediately, hearkening to a silent command that only he had heard. He was rewarded by sweet little pets that took his mind off his throbbing, bleeding fist. 

Rumlow’s mouth was smoother—softer too, the calloused skin that Bucky remembered was replaced with supple, soft lips sweeping lightly over his. Rumlow lacked the full pout that Steve had going for him, but made up for it in mastery when it came to kissing. He devoured Bucky’s mouth and Bucky melted, producing a little keening whine that he couldn’t hold back. 

Bucky hated himself for it, for everything. For the deaths he caused. For the chaos. For the pain. For ever being so stupid as to think he could start over, /remember/ it all. /Forget/ it all….

“Hey, tell you what,” Rumlow said, peppering Buckys mouth with playful bites and kisses. “Want some breakfast?” His hips rutted tenderly into Bucky’s lap, lifting him onto the counter and rolling into the warmth between his legs. “Huh?” 

“Mh—hm…” Bucky murmured, eyes closed, lost in the familiar scent.

“Okay,” Rumlow said with a nip to Bucky’s neck. “Want some orange juice, yeah?” 

“Yeah…” 

“A giant glass of orange juice…” Rumlow continued describing food as if it were phone sex, his hand jutting up into Bucky’s shirt, under the warmth of his tactical vest, fingers fluttering over the fine dusting of chest hair. “…and easy-over eggs with a stack of pancakes drenched in maple syrup. Two of each, just like you like.” 

“Just like I like,” Bucky repeated, his head rolling back. “Yeah…” 

“Yeah…” Rumlow’s kiss became frantic, his tongue crushing Bucky’s, forcing it back into his mouth, his scent devouring every corridor of Bucky’s conscious thoughts. 

Bucky hadn’t even begun to question why—or how—Rumlow was alive. Bucky had seen too many unbelievable things, experienced so much of the impossible…

Nothing was impossible anymore. 

Except, maybe…

…a way out. 

* * * * *


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is missing and Steve is frantic to find him. He asks for help from a friend...and ex-friend, anyway. 
> 
> Meanwhile Bucky and Rumlow have a little reunion.

>>>>“Live from CNN, I’m Ashleigh Banfield. Shocking developments today in the disappearance of Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America, and his fellow vigilantes. <<<<

 

>>>>S.h.i.e.l.d. forensics experts have concluded that the jail-break that occurred last Tuesday evening at the RAFT Special-Corrections Facility was orchestrated by the once-deemed “patriotic” super-soldier. It is unknown whether he gained help from inside sources sympathetic to his cause to accomplish the jailbreak. Captain America gained criticism last month upon his refusal to sign an agreement to the Sokovia Accords, an international agreement approved by 117 countries to bring the Avengers and vigilante entities like them under the regulatory authority of the UN. SHIELD’s P.R. Director, Dezra Kaine says—quote— “Steve Rogers is a super-soldier with the highest level skills and abilities known to science, and he and his fellow vigilantes-turned-criminals have stirred the wrath of not only SHIELD, but also every developed nation in the World. They became enemies of the State by refusing to sign the Accords, and by acting outside of federal and national jurisdiction.” She goes on to say, “No matter where they go, there will be those sympathetic to their stance, but millions more who understand that the Accords is the only way to ensure peace and proper action when it comes to super-vigilantism. They will be brought in swiftly and returned to the SHIELD maximum security facility, where officials are ensuring full upgrades to---- <<<<

 

“You watching this crap again?” Clint approached the back of the couch, where Scott lounged with a bowl of popcorn.

 

“What?,” he replied, shoving way too much into his mouth and happily chomping away. “Hmph’s either this or a-nunner Gohlden Gohirls rhe-run.”

 

“Hey, leave my golden girls out of this.” Clint snatched a handful for himself and expertly wrestled the remote away.

 

“Shhh!” Wanda snapped her fingers and pointed at Steve, whose eyes were glued to the open laptop in front of him. He had willed himself not to cry when he watched the footage: a scene not unlike those he had witnessed before. Security cameras following Bucky around with unnamed, unlabeled, masked men, making their way through the Cryogenic facility, decimating everything in their wake. Naturally, the tapes centered directly over Bucky’s sleep-cell were damaged—badly. His connection sent him a small audio bite that they were able to extract, and the only thing Steve could make out was a clip of the supposed leader saying, “Let’s go.”

 

“Hold up,” Steve muttered, more to himself than anybody else. He played it back, turning up the volume when the room fell silent.

 

/”Let’s go.”/

 

“Holy…”, Clint wandered over, peering down at the frozen screen, the wavy lines of audio spiking in time with the voice. “Is that..?”

 

Steve shook his head, biting on his thumb-nail and leaning back in the cheap office chair. It squeaked under his impressive size. “It…it can’t…”

 

He played it again.

 

/”Let’s go.”/

 

“But…we watched him die.” Wanda stared disbelievingly, watching Steve’s expression go from concern to complete and utter rage. “I…I put a force-field around him and…the explosion…”

 

Steve shoved back away from the table, the chair going out from him with a shriek. He stalked out of the small apartment, the door slamming shut behind him.

 

“I’ve got this.” Natasha put a hand on Wanda’s shoulder and she gave her a sharp nod.

 

“Steve…” Natasha had to break out into a run—in 5-inch heels no less—to catch up with him before he exited the building completely. Throwing his faded blue hoodie on (he one he hadn’t washed since Wakanda because Bucky had borrowed it), would do nothing to hide his height, his speed, or the bright blue eyes and the bulging muscles that no man should ever have. “Steve!” She slipped her arm through his and pulled. She stumbled a little when he didn’t stop. “You’re going to have to drag me.”

 

“Fine by me.” As if she were a paper-weight, Steve’s arms wrapped around her like tree trunks and easily hoisted her off the ground, bridal-style. She gasped a little but a punch to his chest seemed to snap him out of it, and he slipped her back down onto the pavement with a bedraggled sigh.

 

“You need to stop this.” She pulled him back inside, into the shadows of the run-down apartment complex.

 

Steve shook his head. “I can’t, Tosh. I have to go get him.”

 

“And you /will/. But not now. Not alone.”

 

Steve’s eyes glittered in the street-light, tears threatening in his eyes, red-rimmed and tired. He let out a ragged breath and draped one arm across her narrow shoulders.

 

“Come on,” she muttered, one hand at his back. As they made their way back inside, she added, “This is going to be a big fight, if and when you find these guys. You know, it might be a good idea to call…”

 

“Don’t,” Steve grumbled. “Don’t even say it.”

 

“There is no guarantee that he will help you, but—“

 

“Yeah. There’s also no guarantee that he won’t turn me in, either.”

 

“He wouldn’t. He can’t find you.”

 

“You found me, didn’t you?”

 

Natasha grinned. “Yes but /I/ am an ex-spy.”

 

Steve cracked a small smile. “And, the most formidable member of the Avengers. Next to the green guy with the purple shorts.”

 

“You got that right.” She winked at him.

 

* * * * *

 

“You gonna eat, or what?” Rumlow sat across from Bucky as he poked at his eggs. His feet were crossed and swung up on the edge of the table as he balanced on the back two legs of the wooden dining chair. “Ah. Lookin’ at my face?” Rumlow proudly petted himself. “They did a nice job, didn’t they?” Bucky’s eyes fell downward to his plate. “I know, I know. Today was rough. It wasn’t how I wanted us to get back to business, either.” Rumlow took a long swallow of black coffee. “But that’s not what matters. You’re here, now. And I’m here. That’s what counts.”

 

“Where is ‘here’?”

 

Rumlow glanced outside. The snow was falling gently, and the shadow of looming mountains greeted the placid water among heavy, dark trees. He snickered a little. “Does it matter?”

 

“To me, it does.”

 

Rumlow raised both eyebrows. “I see. And when did you start deciding shit for yourself?”

 

“The moment you burst into a million flames.”

 

Rumlow let out another dark laugh, partially hidden by his coffee cup. “Eat,” he growled.

 

Bucky’s head went down to his plate, gathering a piece of cold egg into his mouth and swallowing.

 

“Good boy.” Rumlow shifted the position of his feet on the table, dried mud flaking of and scattering on the wood.“We’re going to go meet a buddy of mine soon. The second I was back, I started looking for you. Sure as hell didn’t take long. The Media these days, huh? Can’t keep news in their pants for five seconds but what they’re spurting it all over the front page. And you, my baby boy…” Rumlow wiggled his fork at him. “…sure know how to make the front page.” Rumlow paused, then, tilting his head to the side quizzically, one cheek stuffed with a mouthful of food. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I got my new look?”

 

“Don’t really give a shit,” Bucky said. It was supposed to sound like a growl, but it came out in a mutter. Bucky winced.

 

He let out a mocking/pleasured groan. “Oh god, sweetheart, keep talking dirty like that and breakfast won’t be the only thing going in that naughty little mouth of yours.” Rumlow glared and pointed at his plate.

 

Bucky swallowed another bite.

 

“Anyway, my new buddy is a whiz with DNA. You know he can extract an entire DNA profile—complete with memory—from a single brain cell?” He tapped his head. “Apparently, mine came from my left cortex. Yeah. He scraped me off some rubble that used to be the side of the building. It was the only thing left.” He barked out a horrid laugh. “Can you believe it!!? And just /wait/ till you see what he’s got for you.”

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Rumlow blinked, stunted. “Well, I kind of figured you’d want your arm back instead of all your bits and pieces hanging out there…especially now, since you fucked up your good hand…”

 

“That’s not what I meant. The Cryogenics Lab…all those people…just for me?” Bucky glanced down at the wrappings wound around the back of his palm, blood still oozing through and slowly turning purple.

 

“I don’t fucking get you sometimes, you know that.” Rumlow tapped the coffee cup down, sliding his feet off the table and stalking over to the place where Bucky sat. “They would have kept you in that ice-box forever. You know that.”

 

“I wanted in,” Bucky retorted.

 

Rumlow snorted. “You did not! You’re a fucking Rottweiler and they want to keep you muzzled.”

 

“You muzzled me, too. I didn’t forget that.”

 

“You OWE me. I trained you. I took bullets for you! Took you under my wing. And you’re still the same ungrateful bitch you were then. What, is it your precious Captain? Fuck him! What did he do for you? Put you right back into the whole you crawled out of. You know, after you got framed for all that shit and he saw what a pain in the ass you’d become, he couldn’t freeze your ass fast enough. He ships you halfway across the world and then freezes your fucking ass.”

 

“Stop it,” Bucky said.

 

“He doesn’t want you to LIVE, Buck! He wants you to exist in some perfect icy ivory tower so you never go anywhere. Aren’t you sick of that?Being treated like some commodity?”

 

“Shut up.” Bucky’s voice was haggard, desperate.

 

“What, it something else, Princess? Are you fucking him, Winter?”

 

“I’m not Winter—“

 

“Or is he fucking you? That’s it, isn’t it? /He/ is fucking /you/. All the shit I put you through and you’re /still/ taking it up the ass. Feels good, doesn’t it? You riding your precious Captain like the obedient little bitch you are.”

 

“Shut your fucking MOUTH--!” Rumlow could sense the line when he crossed it. Bucky’s kill drive was something he watched, studied, for nearly four years. It came as no surprise when Bucky picked up the knife. It wasn’t serrated. Didn’t matter. Bucky could be lethal with a toothpick if you gave him one. He easily trapped Bucky’s lower arm in an iron hold and flipped the knife, reveling in the look of complete shock and horror that emanated from his charge. It clattered to the floor and Rumlow blocked Bucky’s body with his knee, spinning him around so that Bucky’s ass was in the air and he was bent over the table, presented like a gift as he let out a frustrated cry.

 

“OH…That’s the other thing.” Rumlow’s body shadowed Bucky’s, clamping his bloody hand on the table and shoving his hips into the side. Bucky let out another pained cry. “Ya see, my pal made a couple adjustments while I was on the slab…and let’s just say, I get what you and Steve see in this Super Soldier serum now.” He bent over him, grinding his teeth in Bucky’s ear, whispering, “And as you can imagine, they’ve made a few improvements since 1942.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Jarvis, bring up The New York Times.”

 

“Of course, sir. If I may say, sir, this is an unusual request.”

 

“It’s the paper, Jarvis. What’s so unusual about it?”

 

“You are more of a Huffington Post kind of ‘guy’.”

 

“Oh, boy, Jarvis. I have got to re-program your quips.”

 

“As you wish, sir.”

 

Tony slid into his overstuffed office chair as the headlines zoomed past, plucking his fifth scotch of the morning from the Iron Man suit beside him and drowning it in a few gulps. He cringed as he slid on his new ‘computer glasses’, on orders of the eye doctor. It had just occurred to him that maybe instead of improving all his new suits, he should have been making bio-chemical adjustments to improve the human body. He thought about Bruce Banner for a moment, then shook his head. Nope, Tony. Better stick to robots.

 

The last few days, he couldn’t even check the weather without running into Steve’s face. His amber waves of grain and star-spangled blue eyes were smattered onto every social media page. Even trash magazines like Cosmopolitan and People were running wild with theories: “Captain America really a Nazi spy?”, “Team Cap Escape-could they be hiding in Chernobyl?” “Steve Rogers a Traitor!”

 

This time, something new popped up. “Wakandan Laboratory Massacre.”

 

“…the hell?” He pushed the link, and in front of him, projected in bright aqua-blue, a still of the video surveillance appeared. It was Bucky, alright. The arm that Tony had wrenched out of its socket gone, an M-16 in his hand, some sort of electrode sticking out from the back of his neck. Tony zoomed in on the object. “Jarvis, enhance this picture.”

 

“The photo was taken from a newspaper clipping, sir. The enhancement will be grainy, at best.”

 

“Dammit Jarvis, just enhance it, will you?”

 

The electrode looked nothing like the equipment used in the cryogenic freezing process. For a moment, Tony thought, it almost looked familiar. He drew an invisible line around the object. “Jarvis, trace my finger in red.” The shape was almost like that of a high-powered cable jack, thicker at one end, with a round flashing light. “Jarvis, image search.”

 

“Phone for you, sir.”

 

“Put it to voicemail.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

‘Hey, this is Tony Stark,’ The message rang out of the orbital speakers overhead. ‘Leave me a message.’

 

“Tony.”

 

Tony’s heart froze in his chest. Luckily, his hands reacted faster. He slammed on the receiver and grabbed some headphones. “You fucking idiot,” he ground out.

 

“I know, Tony. I know.” Steve’s voice was defeated, soft.

 

“NO. No you don’t. You obviously don’t realize that there are at least four separate organizations listening in to all calls, including—but not limited to—The NYPD, The FBI, Shield, Homeland Security, the—“

 

“Tony, just listen to me for five seconds. That’s all I ask.”

 

“Is Natasha there?”

 

“Tony—“

 

“Answer the god-damn question. IS. SHE. THERE.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You better damn well make sure she’s doing all that spy shit she’s so good at.” Tony guestured frantically to Jarvis, waving his hand and scrolling out feverishly with his finger in the air, ‘M-A-K-E N-O-I-S-E-“ He tapped a few codes on the system, increasing the security as horrid whirring noises in every tone and volume clashed in the air with awful rock-opera music. Even the most high-tech man in the world wasn’t taking any chances. “You have five seconds.”

 

“I—I can barely hear you.”

 

“That’s good. Five seconds. GO.”

 

Steve began again after a short pause. “I need you.”

 

Tony scoffed. “Oh. Okay.”

 

“I do. Tony, Bucky is missing, and I—“

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Bucky. Oh my god. You know, I swear Steve, that is as far as your vocabulary goes these days. I get it, I do. You literally love that man.”

 

“I do.”

 

Tony swallowed hard, feeling the redness well in his eyes. “That’s nice. You fucked me, Labrador boy. You realize that.”

 

“I know. Yes, I did.”

 

“My chest is fine, by the way. The incision’s still pretty tender. But all in all, the operation went pretty well.”

 

“Tony—“

 

“Rhodes is fine, too. Remember him? Only three more weeks of rehab and then we find out if he can actually walk again. Ever.”

 

“Stop it. Okay? I get it. I know what I am asking, but I also know…” Steve’s voice trailed off.

 

“Know what?”

 

“I can’t go it alone. I can’t do this thing without you.”

 

“Well, Cap, you’re going to have to. I’m done sticking my neck out and getting spat on in return. You want yourself a puppet? You just broke four of them out of jail. That’ll be plenty enough to rescue your goddamn boyfriend.”

 

“Tony, I am so sorry. Believe me, I am. I was trying to protect everyone—including you—from the truth—“ Tony snorted. “—and I know that doesn’t make up for anything. But this isn’t about me. This is about…” Steve paused. “This is about an innocent man who was brainwashed to do some very bad things. Someone has him, Tony. Someone who is going to do some very bad things to him if we don’t…if I don’t…/help him/.”

 

“Nuh-uh.” Tony shook his head. “Not falling for it again. And in case you’re wondering why, it’s nothing personal. I just don’t like aiding and abetting international criminals who break other said criminals out of prison and then come crawling back wanting to be all buddy-buddy with their former boyfriends.”

 

“Tony, we were never—“

 

“Ah-ah. Don’t interrupt. I am busy, Steve. I am tired. I am surrounded by lots of toys and Jarvis and three suits that are in desperate need of repair thanks to your metal-armed fuck-toy. As far as I am concerned, you can both go to hell. Goodbye, Steve.”

 

“Tony—!”

 

“Call this number again, and I will hand-deliver you to the proper authorities bound and gagged with a huge, star-spangled bow tacked right onto your happy ass. Good-bye.”

 

With that, he pulled off the headset and shut it down. He glared at the scotch before picking it up. Examining his reflection in the glass was hard to do when his hands were shaking so terribly.

 

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, putting the glass back into the Iron Suit’s clenched hand. “Jarvis, check the Ducati and make sure it’s gassed up, would you?” He launched out of the chair, grabbing a very dusty keyboard and plugging it into one of Jarvis’ retro ports.

 

<<<Download coordinates from call location>>>

 

“Sir, travel is highly unadvisable at this time. Doctor’s orders state 4-5 days bed rest with fluids every 3 to—“

 

<<<Goddamn it Jarvis I will turn you into a latte maker!!!!>>>

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

“I’m just going out for milk,” he added, grabbing his keys and heading for the door.

 

* * * * *

 


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets a new arm, and Tony wonders how in the hell he got roped into helping Steve again.

It was not long before they were on their way again—Bucky was ushered into the back of an armored black van, the radio chatter and team of nameless, masked men in tactical uniforms hearkening him back to a time not so long ago when he was under Hydra’s control. “This won’t hurt,” Rumlow muttered. That was all the warning Bucky got before Rumlow produced a slender metal electrode from his glove and jammed it behind Bucky’s ear.

 

Bucky barely winced—the sharp sting of cold steel entering his flesh was a mosquito bite compared to the pain he was accustomed to. “What does it do?,” Bucky muttered, tracing his fingers over the spot where the tubular metal device was embedded.

 

“That’s something I had made special for you.” Rumlow’s eyes lit up suddenly, a horrifyingly genuine grin on his face. “It’s a memory-blocker.” The engine of the big black van grumbled to life. There was no concrete. No power poles or buildings other than the ramshackle cottage they had just left, and the van shuddered as it made its way through thick leafy woods along a rocky path. Deep trenches had been rooted out of the craggy ground by the tires of vehicles gone before, and every now and then they would hit a bump that practically sent Bucky’s teeth straight through the roof of his mouth.

 

Bucky kept stoic, his cold hazel eyes facing forward out the window.

 

“Hey, I know what you’re thinking,” Rumlow added. “It’s not like that. It’s never going to be like that again. I promise. My buddy—the one I was telling you about—he developed it so you wouldn’t have to remember your missions anymore.”

 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Are we heading to a mission?”

 

“No.” Rumlow cracked a smile and shook his head. “But it was either this or a blindfold. And we both know, you’re too smart for that.” Rumlow pushed a button that sent a shock-wave through Bucky. It was cold—colder than ice, colder than the cryo-chamber—followed by the steely taste of blood in his mouth and a scratchy tingle like static flooding his veins.

 

“Mhh…” Bucky bit his lip, eyelashes fluttering, head rolling back as he rode the horrid sensation out. Then…

 

...nothing.

 

When his eyes opened again, all the light had gone out of them. Slowly his irises slid to the corners of his vision, cool and lifeless, to stare at his handler.

 

“You in there?” Rumlow teased, one gloved hand patting Bucky’s motionless face. He snapped his fingers and let out a satisfied grunt before nodding to the man on his left. “He’s out.”

 

The fellow merc gave Rumlow a look and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know, boss. Sending him to La-la Land to help take out the Wakandans was one thing…you sure you want to be messing with this just for a ride through the mountains?”

 

“He’s totally safe,” Rumlow stated, as it were a carnival ride he was talking about. “Completely under my control.” He slapped Bucky’s rigid shoulder. “Just like the good old days, eh Soldat? Just, don’t look directly into his eyes. He gets a little...touchy about that.”

 

The merc nodded hesitantly and stared out the dirt-ridden window as they made their way through the mountain.

 

* * * * *

 

“Good choice,” Tony muttered. He jumped back a little as a pony-tailed toddler careened past him and into the ball pen of the play area.

 

Steve was already seated, trying to look casual—and failing—as he buried his nose in a cup of plain black coffee and peered over his open laptop at him.

 

Tony couldn’t quite read the look. The last time they had been in the same room together, the Captain’s metal-armed freak of a BFF had been elbow-deep in the chest of Tony’s Iron Man suit, quite literally crushing the life out of him. Tony snorted and slid into the all-too-tiny booth across from Steve. They swapped glares accordingly. Tony stroked his face and gestured to Steve. “This is new,” he said, motioning to the dusting of blonde stubble that did little to hide the Captain’s overly perfect face.

 

“You sure you weren’t followed?,” Steve asked.

 

“Took three separate cars and an Amtrak. Ditched my watch along the way, too. Threw it in a dumpster. I probably just made some homeless person’s week. It was a Cartier. I’ll send you a bill.”

 

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “I still don’t understand why you’d even come.”

 

Tony shrugged, flipping up the collar of his double-breasted coat and grimacing as a clan of human spawn went scurrying past. A bedraggled young woman hobbled past briskly, her wispy hair pulled back into a loose bun at the top of her head as she shooed the children.

 

“Billy, no running!,” she pleaded.

 

Tony shivered. “You just had to pick a Chuck E. Cheese.”

 

Steve shook his head slowly. “They’re just kids, Tony.”

 

“Exactly,” Tony muttered.

 

A rail-thin waitress approached looking just as haggard as the mother, if not more-so. Her black bangs hung in her eyes as she produced a crinkled notepad and a pen. “What’ll it be?” She cast a distrusting glance down at the overdressed middle-aged men who had arrived quite obviously sans-children.

 

Tony waited for Steve to flash his calming, winning all-american smile, the one that instantly claimed the attention of anyone present. “A regular cheese pizza,” Steve said and Tony frowned.

 

“You want something to drink?,” She added, turning to look at Tony.

 

“Water is fine.”

 

“Okay…” She jotted something down on her note pad and slid an odd look between them before stalking off.

 

“So, do you have any leads?”

 

Steve’s brow seemed indefinitely furled as he stared ahead at the screen in front of him and shook his head. “Nothing so far. ” He spun the laptop Tony’s direction and pointed to a grainy video-still of a helmeted figure dressed head to toe in black fatigues. He was raising an automatic rifle, a long blast of light coming from the end of it and striking a woman in a lab coat whose arms were raised, her face contorted in the universal look of a person who knew they were about to die. “That’s the ring leader. And the small audio clip that came attached with it…” Steve pressed play and let the video play on repeat.

 

/let’s go./

 

/let’s go./

 

/let’s go./

I

 

“Rumlow,” Tony murmured.

 

Steve shook his head in bewilderment. “I just don’t get it. I mean, I watched him literally implode right in front of me. I guess, after all we have been through, I should have known that death is never as final as it seems.”

 

“Not always. And see this?” Tony fast-forwarded to the portion he had been over for the past five hours, the one where Bucky’s head was turned and the camera picked up a flash of a metal vial stuck fast in his neck. “That’s Shield technology.”

 

“You mean Shield---!?” Steve nearly burst out of the cheap plastic seat.

 

“Keep it down!” Tony’s voice was a harsh whisper. “No. It doesn’t mean anything other than somebody with this Shield tech used it to batter your boyfriend’s brain like a scrambled egg.”

 

“I’m going to ignore that comment for now,” Steve growled into his mug.

 

“Thank you, your graciousness. Now, if you weren’t so fixated on your idiot psychopath soul-mate you would realize something very basic about this whole thing.”

 

“Enlighten me, Einstien.”

 

“There’s a reference from 1992…Anyway, Rumlow was—or is—a Shield operative that went rogue. There’s no way Fury would want this guy back. Not after the millions of dollars he’s had to pay out in retribution. But Rumlow isn’t acting alone, either. Somebody had to scrape him off the sidewalk and refabricate his body.”

 

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Who in the hell would want Rumlow back?”

 

Tony flashed a tight-lipped smile at the waitress when she returned with a glass of water, a smile which quickly faded when she walked off again. Tony stared intently at the screen, studying the blurry image of the electrode embedded in Bucky’s neck. “Someone who had the technology and the means to collect the both of them.” He rubbed his temples, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I have no fucking clue.”

 

* * * * *

 

After the electrode came out, Bucky spent a long time ogling his new arm.

 

It was so good. So good to reach out with both hands towards the blinding white light suspended above his head. He stretched his fingers, making a zig-zag pattern with the shadow that crossed his face. His left shoulder throbbed, but that would fade with time now that the new bolts had been drilled in through the bone and locked into place. The metal arm was darker, colder, heavier this time. With four blue stones in place of knuckles and a swirling pattern that increased the fluidity of his motions.

 

“What do you think?” Rumlow’s eyes were practically sparkling. Bucky nodded, still transfixed by the feel and the look of the new arm. “Ha-ha!” Rumlow slapped his knee and Bucky jolted upright, his dark eyes flashing, slightly miffed at the prospect of being touched by his handler in such a non-clinical way. “Know what these are?” Rumlow motioned to the glowing blue stones perched atop his hand. “Energy crystals. Charged with enough electricity to fry the brains of a fully-grown man in just one blow.”

 

“Or a 7 foot Hulk in just two,” said a gravely voice behind him.

 

Bucky squinted through the bright light and cocked his head. The shape of a grinning skull floated into view, draped in a dingy white cloak that fastened to a uniform that looked not unlike what Rumlow and his men wore. “Who’re you?”

 

The skull chuckled. “You were right, Brock. It seems the whelp only has eyes for you.” A hand reached out—a flesh and bone hand, despite a face that would suggest otherwise—and long fingers wrapped around Bucky’s neck and squeezed.

 

His stare continued—sharp and threatening and relentless, even as his nostrils flared and he sucked in a harsh breath and struggled to breathe.

 

“Okay, Task. You made your point,” Rumlow said cautiously.

 

“Tell me, Captain,” Taskmaster hissed as he continued to squeeze. Bucky began writhing, his hands clamping down on the forearms holding him fast to the chair. “Do super-soldiers have to breathe?”

 

“He doesn’t know you,” Brock explained, his voice becoming more frantic. “His directive is to assess any and all dangers to his handler.”

 

“Then tell him to stand down.”

 

“I CAN’T, Task! Not when you are displaying blatant signs of aggression.”

 

Taskmaster released Bucky with a shove and Bucky began coughing, the color rushing back into his face as he sucked in fresh air.

 

“Stand down, Asset,” Rumlow muttered, and Bucky’s eyes obediently slid to the floor.

 

“You’re a lucky man,” Taskmaster grumbled. His fingers returned, this time clasping Bucky’s face and tilting it upward towards the light. The soldier’s eyes were soft, this time, complacent. Slivers of light entered his mercurial eyes and bounced back in a thousand shades of green and blue. “…to have such a fine piece of ass protecting yours.” He knocked on Bucky’s arm, making the metal sing.” Well, let’s test this bad boy out and see how it’s going to hold up in battle.”

 

The day was filled with training alongside Taskmaster, re-learning reflexes in his arm and testing the strength of the strange metal—something called “Adamantium”? Rumlow said not only was it stronger and more indestructible in comparison to Vibranium, but that its conductive properties allowed for the electrically-charged stun devices now gracing the armor. And it was automatically controlled by his mind—such as it was. It took Bucky a few tries to learn how to control it, but the blast was immense and let out a sound like a lightning-crack and lit up the concrete training facility with blinding blue light. The force of the shock rocketed him backwards, until he could predict the impact, get the timing right. Taskmaster brought out a shield—presumably also of adamantium—which Bucky pummeled into until everyone in the facility was deaf from the sound of the shockwaves. Best of all, the electricity was charged by Bucky’s own energy, which he had plenty of after a week of cryo-sleep.

 

Rumlow was faster, too. Even when ordered to attack without reservation , Bucky could barely hold his own in their fights. After the third time of being sent into the wall, Bucky had finally had enough and a blinding blue light emanated from his fist. He was surprised when Rumlow didn’t even bother blocking it, just let Bucky’s fist fly straight into his chest. The blue orb fizzled and then went out with a disappointing puff. “Wh—?” Bucky stared down in disbelief. Rumlow caught his fist, bringing a hand to the small of his back and crushing their bodies together. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he chimed. “Taskmaster had the guys build a little something for me. Your Blue Light Special there? Doesn’t work on me. Besides,” he added, stealing a quick kiss on the lips, “you’ll never need it to.”

 

“So long as you remember what the fuck I brought you back for,” Taskmaster added.

 

Rumlow’s expression fell serious and he gave Taskmaster a solemn nod. “I owe it to you, Task. Anything you need.”

 

 

 


	4. Dark Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concept art for Captain America: Retribution

[](http://s611.photobucket.com/user/Jamie_Lyn_Gaskin/media/Mobile%20Uploads/2016-11-02%2017.17.50_zpshknhputr.jpg.html)


	5. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony on a plane. Rumlow and Bucky play "house".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: This chapter contains depictions of rape/dubious consent. Do not read if you are sensitive to these things!
> 
> Also....LOTS of unrequited Stony and Stucky! sowwy! :3

Tony could not make much else out about the abduction from the tape. And of course, what do you do when you don't know something? Start with what you /do/ know. Which was…

 

*Somebody resurrected Rumlow. Somebody who could profit from his existence—meaning, a bad-guy with Hydra’s bag of weaponry and an army of brainwashed sociopaths that simultaneously acquired Shield’s resurrection technology and the Super-serum.

 

*Rumlow and his team of said brainwashed sociopaths mowed down an entire staff of security guards and unarmed scientists without so much as breaking a sweat. They were trained. Very well-trained.

 

*Bucky was brainwashed either using the electrode panted in his brain or his trigger-words. (Possibly both?) 

 

Tony reserved another theory in the back of his head, one that he dared not tell Steve. Maybe Bucky wasn’t so ‘unwilling’ a participant as it seemed. Bucky had killed, maimed and tortured more lives than Stark himself even knew—maybe a part of him liked it. No matter how Bucky pleaded his own case and played “innocent” with those wide hazel eyes, there may very well have been a part of him that /liked/ it. That /wanted/ to do the awful things he was being ordered to do. Steve had grasped on to the notion that Bucky was innocent before Bucky could even cast his line, and Tony wasn’t biting. 

 

That left the things they didn’t know—a mountain of evidence and information that the Wakandans were keeping under lock and key. Luckily, Natasha was an ace at making fake I.D.’s on the fly, and Tony’s schedule was easy to re-route, and within the hour they were on their way. What better way to determine the source of the leak than to examine the pipe yourself? Natasha even went so far as to ensure there was no Air Marshal on the flight. That woman was a wizard.

 

Tony slid a look over to Steve, who was looking out the window of the airplane at the wispy clouds as they passed them by. “Been a while since I’ve flown coach,” Tony said, thumbing through a pamphlet of attractions he would never hasten to visit.

 

“You’ve never flown coach,” Steve muttered under his hat.

 

Tony shrugged and took a sip of his martini. “Not entirely true. One time, there was stewardess in that had really nice legs. I mean, vegas show-girl know of nice. She invited me to the back for a drink and I ended up spilling some rum on my tie. Well, they had a hair-dryer back in Coach, so I sat down and let her uhm…”blow” me?”

 

“Classy.”

 

“Sorry,” Tony snickered. Natasha had all but insisted on coming along, but even she knew that if two would be hard to get past a radar, that three would be asking to get caught. Tony lifted his head slightly, peering over his seat at the unamused faces of the other passengers as they read/watched television/stared blankly/slept. “Buncha party poopers,” he muttered. “No wonder Coach sucks.”

 

“Shhh,” Steve said, tapping the tablet in his lap.

 

“God, you’re watching the footage /again/?”

 

“I can’t stop thinking that I’m missing something.” For a man who had the super-soldier serum pumping through his veins, he looked as if he had not slept in years. His normally jovial expression was replaced with a look of complete despair. It was as if he was screaming on the inside.

 

Tony could not stop the words falling out of his mouth. “When did you realize you loved him?” He swallowed back the huge lump in his throat, red rimming his eyes. To his surprise, Steve didn’t back out, snap back or even blush. If the question had done anything to enrage him, his face didn’t show it.

 

His fingers stopped circling over the “pause” tab, though, hovering centimeters from the face of the tablet. “I guess…I guess I’ve just always known.”

 

Tony tried really hard to make the answer burn less in his chest. Tried to shove it down sideways, even though it was a useless cause and the idiot Labrador man beside him would never guess the cause. Tony cleared his throat and took another long swig of his drink, finishing it off quickly. “And you’ve never told him this.”

 

“Are you kidding me? Of course not. Bucky had so many girls back in the day, he probably would have knocked my teeth out for saying anything.”

 

Tony was kicking himself inwardly. He was literally getting involved in the plausible love-life of a man that he plausibly loved, himself. Involving the man who had killed his parents, no less.  “Yeah…but…what about now? I mean, things have changed. For both of you.”

 

Steve shook his head softly. “Nothing has changed. We are still at war. We are still struggling. We are still fighting for a chance to survive.”

 

Tony snorted. “God! Listen to you!” He miffed the back of Steve’s head with a closed fist and Steve jolted upright, sliding a glare in his direction that turned into a questioning look. “Come ON, Mr. star-spangled, all-american, can-do Leader-guy! What happened to that shit-eating confidence that I always want to slap off that gorgeous face of yours? What happened to taking chances?” Fighting for a better tomorrow”?”

 

“Tone,” Steve warned, looking around at the cabin of people who *might* be paying attention. He ducked his head back down into the tablet as if practicing a tornado drill.

 

“I’m serious,” Tony continued, his voice a little quieter this time. “It’s time for you to get off your sorry ass and start taking some responsibility. Thinking for yourself. That’s what got you into this mess in the first place, isn’t it? When we find Bucky…and we will…”—Tony waved a hand at the stewardess as she approached, careful to mute his signature playboy smile—“…you better claim that boy for yourself.”

 

“Or what?” Steve asked, a small smile returning across his perfectly pink lips, followed by a rosy-red blush that settled along his cheekbones.

 

“Or somebody else will.” Tony ordered himself another drink as Steve chewed on that thought, his eyes drifting back to the frozen video and the one-armed solider in it.

 

* * * * *

 

Bucky stared out at the placid lake, letting his mind drift to the sound of the water as it lapped against the side of the small boat anchored to the rickety dock. He smelled the air—crisp, bright, and clean. Wherever he was, he was not in the states. The foliage was too knotted, too dense…too ancient. The ground beneath his feet was red, probably rich in iron or copper. He crouched, gathering a few grains onto the tips of his fingers and tasting the mixture.

 

“Still putting weird shit in your mouth, I see.”

 

His back stiffened, head snapping to the side as Rumlow approached, a cigarette clenched firmly between his teeth. Bucky looked up at him with a blank stare as Rumlow offered a fresh cigarette down to him. Bucky opened his mouth and let him place the tip of the filter between his lips and light it. His muscles immediately relaxed as a warm swirl of ash and menthol curled around his tongue.

 

“You need a bath,” Rumlow continued, tugging at a greasy strand of brown hair that fell over Bucky’s face.

 

“Probably,” Bucky muttered. As if they were just two buddies enjoying a sunset. As if they weren’t playing a lethal game of Slave and Master. As if nothing fucking mattered. He made a fist with his new hand, testing the dexterity of the adamantium in the cold autumn air. Bucky made a note of that…it was autumn, here.

 

Rumlow sat beside him, arms perched on his knees, staring at Bucky with that secret smile he always had, like life was a fucking joke and only he knew the punchline. Bucky shifted his head, the tendrils of cinnamon-brown hair spilling over his face, blocking his eyes and his expression from view. “Hey,” Rumlow mumured, catching Bucky’s chin in his gloved fingers and turning his head to face him.

 

His eyes were cold, distant and calloused, as if that would do anything to diminish how pretty they were. Rumlow spat his cigarette out onto the ground, slipping Bucky’s between his fingers and leaning inward until their noses touched. “You’re not his,” Rumlow muttered. The words were harsh but the palm on his cheek was warm and gentle. Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed. “You stop thinking about him, yeah?” He stole a soft kiss, the stubble on his upper lip tickling Bucky’s cheek. Everything about him was softer, younger—new. New like Bucky’s tight, plump skin and his full, round lips as their mouths crushed together and the smoky breath mingled in the frigid air between them, their scents mixing. Bucky shuddered as the unmistakable pleasure sent a shock-wave right to his groin and he began pressing into the heavy fabric of his pants. “Jesus, baby,” Rumlow coaxed, one wide hand grasping Bucky’s flesh arm, pulling him in until Bucky had to crouch into him to keep from falling over. He captured Bucky’s hand, fingers intertwining, pressing it against the throbbing bulge under his jeans. “You want this, yeah?”

 

“Mmhh…” Bucky’s mouth fell open and Rumlow’s tongue melted inside, lapping at the sweet scent. A hand went to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of brown hair and forcing Bucky further into Rumlow’s lap.

 

Rumlow broke off the kiss, stroking back Bucky’s hair and nipping at the long curve of his neck. “Gonna send the boys away for a bit,” he groaned, forcing himself to stand but dragging Bucky with him, interlacing their fingers into a hand-hold as he pulled him towards the little ramshackle house, eyes locked on the long-haired soldier, walking backwards up the embankment.

 

The water that came from the shower-head smelled the same as the lake—pure as crystal save for an undertone of fresh mud. It was warm and the stream was powerful as it pattered down his back. Rumlow was fully erect when he slipped in after him, his dick nearly as thick as it was long. Bucky’s eyes said everything—he stared a little and then stared some more to keep himself from staring. “I know, right?” Rumlow’s arms went out from his sides, gesturing at the impressive sight. “When they brought me back they upgraded the whole goddamn package.” He cracked a smile. “Literally.”

 

Bucky flattened his back against the shower wall, water spilling into his face, bringing wet strands of hair down with it.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

 

The gentle, coaxing hands returned, the underside of Rumlow’s thumb brushing against Bucky’s face, sweeping away his long bangs. He closed the distance between them, the warmth of the water doubled by the warmth of their bodies against each other. Rumlow’s length pressed against Bucky’s leg, the tip already slick with precum. “Sorry,” Rumlow muttered, and shifted to give Bucky more room. “God, did I miss you.” His wide, powerful hand slid easily between Bucky’s legs and Bucky choked down a pleasured cry as Rumlow cupped his balls, thumbing the underside of his painfully stiff dick. “Been a while, yeah?” He nipped at Bucky’s open mouth, tongue gently sweeping over his bottom lip. “You’re so ready, sweetheart…”

 

Bucky happily melted into the accolades. Rumlow was pleased. Rumlow was happy. Bucky was doing well. Being obedient. Being good…

 

“Are you ready for me here, too?” Rumlow’s hands made their way to Bucky’s ass, nails digging into the soft, muscular flesh, fingers disappearing between them. Bucky stiffened as he felt Rumlow’s fingers flick across his entrance. “So tight…” He rewarded him with a deep kiss as he messed with the conditioner bottle and finally popped it open, the white slick substance coating his hand. The bottle tumbled to the shower floor. “Gonna get you ready for me.”

 

Their first time had been years ago, just weeks after Bucky was “given” to Rumlow. He was Hydra’s greatest weapon, and Rumlow was the trigger-man. Rumlow wasn’t always so nice—the first time, he had been in a drunken rage over something Bucky had refused to do—Bucky couldn’t remember what—but after weeks of threatening to fuck him right in the van in front of his men, he finally made good on his offer. It was one of the first memories that Bucky regained post-Hydra. One memory that would never make it into his red journal.

 

“No,” Bucky said in a harsh whisper, his eyes flashing up into Rumlow’s, a snarl warping the lines of his shapely lips.

 

“S’cuse me?” Rumlow met the glare with equal ferocity, grabbing a fistful of Bucky’s wet hair and slamming him back into the shower wall.

 

“I don’t…I don’t have to…” Bucky started shaking uncontrollably. His voice became quieter, demure. “I don’t have to do this.”  

 

To his surprise, Rumlow let out a satisfied groan and jabbed his dick between Bucky’s stiffened legs. “You’re wrong,” he mumured, clenched teeth scraping against Bucky’s bared throat. “Is this really worse? Is this really worse than being frozen in some cryogenic time-capsule, waiting for your Captain to rescue you?”

 

“It is,” Bucky growled back, slowly regaining some of his will. “If it means innocent people die.”

 

“Those scientists were not innocent.” The methodical stroking returned, Rumlow’s hands becoming gentle, seductive, his fingers fluttering over Bucky’s back as his arms wrapped around him, pulling him into an embrace. “They were keeping you from me. They got what they got. It’s done, now.”  

 

“And what about your friend…Taskmaster? What does he have planned?”

 

“Nothing you have to worry yourself about. That’s my job. And /yours/…” And hand went between Bucky’s legs, wrapping around his half-stiff cock. “Is to obey.” Rumlow flicked the head of his dick and Bucky shuddered his head falling back, a quiet moan rumbling in his throat. “You know this.”

 

“Mmmh…yeah....” Bucky planted his feet, leaning into the touch as he was rewarded with soft, soothing pets.

 

Rumlow eyes fluttered closed, his head falling to Bucky’s chest, the water cascading over his face and throat. His fingers returned to Bucky’s entrance, fingers grazing over the puckered spot, spreading his ass wide and planting a slick finger inside of him. He relished the cry that Bucky produced, the tight muscles squeezing down on his digit, simultaneously pushing him out and trying to drag him inside. “Hungry boy,” He teased, sliding in, knuckle-deep. Bucky was incredibly hot inside. His other hand worked out a rhythm on Bucky’s stiffened cock, calloused fingers clamping around the middle and yanking forward, sending Bucky nearly off his feet. “Good boy.” He rewarded Bucky with a deep kiss and slid another finger in, next to the buried one, widening the hole and causing Bucky to begin to pant.

 

Bucky climbed on, nails scraping down Rumlow’s back, the blue stones of his electric hand fizzling and sending off pleasing sparks down his metal fingers, through Rumlow’s untouched skin, deep into the muscle.

 

“Damn…” Rumlow shuddered. Without warning, Bucky was spun around, his hands flat against the shower wall, his ass bared with Rumlow standing above him, hands planted firmly on his hips, lining his cock up to Bucky’s hole. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I can’t wait another minute.”

 

Rumlow felt as big as he looked—his bulbous head round and stiff and hot against Bucky’s entrance. He lined himself up, pushing in with a hiss, and Bucky let out a sharp cry as the searing pressure of the intrusion sent sharp tingles up his spine. “Relax, relax,” he soothed, pushing back on Bucky’s hips, sending his ass up into Rumlow’s lap. Bucky’s entrance stayed rigid, the puckered muscle squeezing tight, denying him access. “Jesus fucking…goddamn…” Rumlow slipped a finger back in, the makeshift lube dribbling out, pulling downward to open him up. He alternated between pushing the head of his cock in and sliding a finger around Bucky’s aching hole, willing him to let up. Bucky shuddered, relaxing ever so slightly and Rumlow thrust in.

 

Like being impaled with a hot iron rod, Bucky’s head snapped back, letting out a sharp cry that caught in his throat. Rumlow thrust upward relentlessly, not waiting for Bucky to catch up or even catch his breath. Rumlow’s girth kept his hole stretched wide as he pummeled in and out of him. Bucky whined as he willed himself to relax and the head of Rumlow’s cock grazed the soft, fleshy mound deep within him.

 

“There we go, baby,” Rumlow breathed against his ear, the water raining down as he battered Bucky’s insides. “That what you want?”

 

“Mmmh…” the ring of muscles at Bucky’s entrance closed around the hilt of Rumlow’s cock, producing a spurt of precum that coated his walls and gave him a little relief from the pain. Rumlow paid attention to Bucky’s aching cock, too, and rubbed him raw until Bucky thought he might explode at any second. Rumlow came first, hammering Bucky’s insides with an authoritative growl as he released, his dick pulsating and spreading Bucky wide as Rumlow’s seed filled him.

 

“So good, sweetheart,” Rumlow murmured breathlessly into his ear. He pulled out gingerly and turned Bucky around, giving him a short kiss on the lips before pushing Bucky against the wall and sliding down to his knees in front of him. Bucky nearly slipped on the tile when Rumlow captured him in his mouth, balling up Rumlow’s short black hair in a tight fist as he went to work.

 

Bucky couldn’t stop the simultaneous feelings of lust and despair. With Rumlow, he was everywhere he wanted to be and nowhere he wanted to be. He wanted so badly to believe Rumlow’s promises, but he knew better. There was nothing good that could come out of this. He was going to have to find a way out. Some way to get back. He closed his eyes as the water got colder and colder, spilling down over his taught muscles, around the mouth around his cock. He couldn’t even pretend it was Steve doing this to him; he didn’t know what Steve’s mouth felt like, but he knew it would have been softer, sweeter...

 

He tightened up as every sweet spot was battered by Rumlow’s expert tongue and his shaft was sucked down roughly into his throat. He shuddered and went over the edge, stomach muscles going rigid as he felt himself spill onto Rumlow’s tongue and coat the sides of his throat. He rode out the convulsions of after-come and gasped for air as he tried to remain upright.

 

“Missed you,” Rumlow repeated breathily, sliding up from the floor and reaching behind Bucky to turn the water off. He gave him a final kiss, Rumlow’s scent mixed with the bitter and sweet taste of Bucky’s come, and hopped out.

 

Bucky stared at the tile for a moment, catching his ragged breath, letting the blood flow back to his brain.

 

* * * * * 

 


	6. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony arrive at the airport, only to find...they've been caught. 
> 
> Bucky and Rumlow go on their first mission, in like, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. The second half of this is complete crap, you guys. Mostly because I suck at writing action scenes, but also because after last night, I think we can all use the fluff. So forgive my loopyness. Next chapter gets better, I promise <3

The plane touched down safely in Nairobi International Airport. Much to Steve’s chagrin, Tony made a bee-line for the food court. He didn’t bother to hide his disappointment with a deepening frown. “Glare all you want,” Tony snapped, “But my ass has been asleep for the past four hours, I have to pee like a racehorse, and you have not lived until you have tasted chapatti.”

 

“Excuse me, Mr. Sawyer? Mr. Dickison?” A hand wrapped around the crook of Steve’s arm and he bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from pulling away. A slender, well-armed security officer stared up at him blankly.

 

Tony let out a little squeak as he too, was sidelined, but quickly eased back into a smooth, devil-mat-care glance at his captor. The officer holding Tony’s arm squinted as she inspected a paper in her hand. It had two very familiar faces on it—theirs. The majority of the letters were too small to read except for the one word at the very top, printed in bold red: FUGITIVES

 

Steve felt his heart sink in his chest.

 

“You will come with us, please,” She ordered.

 

Steve and Tony shared a similar stares as they were led down a very narrow hallway and into a tiny, walled-off room. Her partner let go of Steve, gesturing to a metal chair across from a wooden table. Steve grimaced, but slid in to the uncomfortably tiny chair. Tony sat down on the vacant one beside him and they traded edgy glances. Tony tugged on the sleeve of his sweater, playing with something underneath it.

 

“We will be right back,” The guard announced coolly before sliding the windowless door shut. The snick of a bolt locking from outside made Tony straighten up in his seat.

 

“All I need is a word, Cap,” he muttered under motionless lips.

 

“No,” he murmured quietly. Steve surveyed the room and counted for cameras—one for each corner of the stuffy room. “Let’s wait this thing out, Tone. It could be a mistake. Could be a fluke.”

 

“A fluke? Steve, she has the /literal/ Wanted poster…”

 

As if Cap could not slam the table into tiny splinters. As if it would take more than a single balled fist to shatter the metal door, bend it right off its hinges. Steve’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the sound of footsteps coming closer…closer…and finally stopping in front of the door.

 

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t miss his shield. The cold touch of metal and the way the vibranium sang like a crystal wine glass when he brushed his fingers across it. He missed the protection it offered, too, from  bullets and sometimes from having to face his own failures. Inside, he was still human. Inside he was…imperfect.

 

The lock slid open and the heavy door whined, and Steve blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been keeping in, part in relief and part in, well, disbelief.

 

Tony’s hand slid away from his rumpled up sleeve that was barely concealing the flashy hi-tech watch he was wearing. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice haggard and shaky. “I almost called the Hulk-Buster down on this place!”

 

The exquisitely dressed man before them smiled brightly. “You gentlemen are right on time.”

 

“Your Highness.” Steve rose from the table, gasping his hand gratefully and receiving a friendly pat on the back.

 

“We have been through this before, Captain. Please. It is T’Challa.”

 

“You knew we were coming.” Tony stared blankly, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

 

“You will have to forgive me. My Intelligence informed me of your arrival and I could not resist but to have a little fun.”

 

“Cute,” Tony snapped. He ignored the threatening glare Steve threw his way and stood up. “I was getting fairly close to needing another heart re-wiring fir a minute there, but at least you got your royal jollies. Good for you.”

 

“Tony!”, Steve reprimanded.

 

The Prince waved a hand. “No, he’s alright.” He drew an arm around Steve and motioned to the door. “Luckily for you, my good friends Dr. Sawyer and Dr. Dickinson have agreed to meet with me personally to discuss the matter of Mr. Barnes’ disappearance.”

 

“Ooooh, doctors, you say?,” inclined Tony.

 

T’Challa nodded. “They are with Cambridge University’s Cryo-Engineering research team.” He flipped two plastic-coated Cambridge ID’s, complete with photos out of his pocket and distributed one to each of them with a smug smile.

 

Steve cleared his throat, staring down at the ID card as he tried to swallow his disbelief. “And when did you receive word that  we—uhm—these “friends” of yours…were arriving?”

 

“By way of your good colleague, Dr. Handell, of course.” T’Challa opened the door to reveal a smiling redhead, dressed in a yellow cardigan and swathed in a white lab coat.

 

“Hello, boys,” Natasha grinned up at them. “You didn’t think I was going to let you two have all the fun now did you?”

 

“Tosh,” Steve muttered before he could stop himself.

 

“It’s Natalie,” She corrected him. “And you two silly-heads forgot your lab coats!”

 

Tony let out an undignified “Oof” as one was tossed his way.

 

“You shouldn’t have come,” Steve murmured.

 

“Of course she should have.” T’Challa joined in on the fun. Besides, you literally could not do it without her.”

 

“What?”

 

“See?” Natasha said, tapping the ID tag neatly pinned to her lapel. “It says right here…”Supervising Resident Physician, cryogenics division.”

 

“Supervisor, huh?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

 

Natasha cocked her shoulder as she spun on one heel to lead the men out of the long corridor.

 

“So, I take it the guards…” Tony’s voice trailed off.

 

T’Challa shrugged. “It was a simple case of mistaken identity. It happens quite frequently, I assure you. The Officers have been informed of their mistake and they offer their sincerest apologies.”

 

They small group was greeted by an entourage of armed guards at the end of the hallway, where it spilled into the heavy Airport foot-traffic. T’Challa’s limo was sleek and black, but not obnoxiously stretched. The four slid in to the leather seats as the group of guards blocked the small crowd that had gathered from taking pictures.

 

“Feels so different, being the bad-guy for once,” Steve said, peering out one side of his vision at the inquisitive onlookers.

 

“You’re not a bad guy,” Natasha said, patting his leg. “In fact, you are by far the nicest fugitive I know.”

 

“Hey,” Tony cut in. “Don’t forget my face was on that Wanted poster, too.”

 

Steve shrugged playfully. “Yeah, but when this is all over, you can always claim I kidnapped you.”

 

“Hah,” Tony gruffed, crossing his arms and glaring out his side of the car. “I’d like to see you try.”

 

T’Challa slid in beside Tony and hurriedly shut the door. “We can go straight to the Laboratory, if you would like.”

 

Steve’s face fell, as his mind drifted back to the grave matter at hand. “Yeah, we would. I can’t thank you enough, your Highness.”

 

T’Challa shook his head. “It is the least I could do for you, Captain. I only wish I had been there. Perhaps I could have stopped this…tragedy.”

 

“I am sorry for your losses, as well,” Steve replied. “This is a terrible blow, on all sides.”

 

“Yes…but...Seargent Barnes. He was your friend.”

 

“Still is,” Steve corrected sharply, then corrected his tone. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I understand,” T’Challa gazed at him with knowing eyes. “At any rate, we will examine the laboratory and the footage from the tapes and see where it may lead.”  He clamped a solid hand on Steve’s shoulder, giving it a little shake. “We will find him, Captain. I give you my word.”

 

* * * * *

 

The explosion came just shortly after Vision had put the asparagus on to boil. Wanda had inspired him to try his hand at the culinary arts, and though it did nothing to keep his mind off of where she was hiding or how she was doing, he found some comfort in continuing to try new recipes. At first, it sounded as if the pan had begun to sizzle due to the burner being on too high. Then the shock-wave came, followed by a deafening CRACK. The smoke and dust flew everywhere in a matter of nanoseconds, and the pot bounced off the stove and onto the floor.

 

The gunfire came next, which Vision thought was odd. In the entire Avengers tower, he was the only occupant. There had been an early meeting at Shield Headquarters to discuss the recent significant fallbacks, and Vision was to wait at the Tower in case Mr. Stark somehow made his presence known. The current situation—which he recalled Mr. Stark referring to as “FUBARed”—had thrown the entire organization into pandemonium.

 

The shuddering stopped before Vision could lift his feet off the floor to hover and a group of eighteen men in body armor burst through the heavy sliding glass doors. “It was unlocked!,” Vision reprimanded.

 

“Target acquired,” said the masked one in the front, raising his weapon. The shape of a skull was roughly outlined in blue paint on the mask and brown hair fell down into his eyes. Yet his identity was unmistakable.

 

“Oh, dear,” Vision murmured.

 

* * * * *

 

Outside of the complex, rubble was raining down on the city, sending pedestrians into a frenzy and cars swerving into one another.

 

“Hey guys…” Scott was staring blankly out the window at the chaos below. He took a swallow of his energy drink. “Uhm. We’ve got issues.”

 

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Clint muttered, his face half-covered by a People!Weekly magazine. It was Steve, again, on the cover—his lips curled mid-speech, pointing a finger. The caption on the bottom read, “Captain-No-Morica—where is Steve Rogers?”

 

“No, no. I mean /issues/.” Scott tapped on the glass.

 

Clint’s eyes bugged out and he catapulted out from his reclined position on the couch. “God!”

 

“This mean we’re suiting up?,” Asked Sam, already fastening his gauntlets.

 

“Let it burn,” Wanda said, staring out at the flaming spires shooting out of the tower.

 

“How could you say that?” Even Scott was staring at her.

 

“We’re wasting time here, people,” Sam shouted as he jumped into his boots and slung his jet-pack over his back. “Wanda, you want to sit here and be all pissed off at society, that’s your thing. I’ll see the rest of you down there.”

 

“They’re going to arrest us!,” She shouted after him as he jammed the large bay window open and took flight.

 

“They have to catch us first!”

 

“I love how tragedy makes us stupid,” Scott remarked, a genuine grin across his face. “Well…here goes everything.”

 

Clint had transformed into Hawkeye and was making his way down the stairs when he retorted, “We really need to work on your catch-phrases!”

 

* * * * *

 

“I mean you no harm,” Vision insisted, his hands raised defensively, glowing yellow light radiating from them.

 

“That’s nice, Sweater Boy,” Rumlow taunted, coming around from behind Bucky. “But I don’t think he’s listening.”

 

“This is James Buchanan Barnes, is it not? He is Captain Steve Roger’s good friend and ally. At least, he was. Captain Rogers would be very disagreeable if I were to harm him. So I ask that you all remove yourselves from the premises.”

 

Bucky raised his AR-15, leveling it with his ice-blue eyes.

 

“I would remind you that I am impervious to modern bullets, regardless of caliber. However, I will consider any shots fired grounds for retaliation.”

 

The words had barely left his mouth when the shot rang out and a crack appeared, dead-center of the stone in Vision’s head. Vision faltered back, bracing himself against the counter, the glowing light from his hands dimming fast.

 

“Wow, those Accords Agreements really turned you all into giant pussies, didn’t they? What, you gonna read us our Miranda rights next?” Rumlow kicked him in the side, sending him toppling to the ground.

 

“The technology embedded in my processor cannot be destroyed,” Vision murmured, struggling to stand and clutching his ribs. “As it seems you cannot be destroyed, Captain Brock Rumlow of Strike.

 

“What can I say?” Rumlow shrugged, “I am a popular guy these days. And damn, it just feels right, you know?”

 

A blinding crack of yellow lightening sent a shock-wave permeating the whole floor. Rumlow’s men faltered left and right, but Bucky steadied himself and lent a hand—or, rather, a foot—in disarming the android. “Cease and desist,” He ordered robotically, staring down at the confounded machine as he writhed under his boot.

 

“What could I…possibly have that would serve any purpose…for you?”

 

“That’s the thing. It’s not /our/ purpose you’re serving. So I hope you won’t take this personally. Orders are orders. I am sure you understand.”

 

Bucky easily hauled him up from the floor, slapping a pair of mysterious glowing cuffs on Vision’s wrists. “Vibranium technology,” Vision murmured. “I can feel it responding to my mainframe.”

 

“Well, Taskmaster said this would be a deterrent from you doing any of that disappearing shit on us. Looks like he was right.”

 

Bucky elbowed Rumlow to grab his attention and nodded towards the ceiling.

 

Rumlow grinned. “Baby, I love the way you think.” Much to Vision’s surprise, Rumlow leaned in and kissed Bucky’s mouthpiece where his lips would be, and ordered his men up the winding stairs, and just in time, too.

 

The building was starting to sway.

 

* * * * *

 

The QuinJet blasted off the top of the roof with burst of white/blue light just as Sam sped to the scene. “Damn, you think that’s Vision flying that thing?!”, Sam heard Scott say into his earpiece. He looked down below, at the only little specks on the street that were running /toward/ the crumbling skyscraper.

 

“No, I do not,” he said, firing off a few rounds into the propellers of the plane. They sputtered out some black smoke, but continued into the sky relatively unaffected. “Dammit! Where is War Machine when I need him!”

 

“He hates us, remember,” Wanda came across the radio at him. “I am going to try to contain the building.” A bright orb surrounded the smoking Avengers tower even as it leaned inches from a neighboring building. The hot metal groaned and twisted as it was warped into a ball and settled into dust at the street-level. The force field choked out the majority of the flame.

 

Sirens wailed all around the scene as police officers, fire-fighters and military personnel responded to the scene. “Uh-oh, we’ve got company!,” Scott said. “I think I can take care of it!”

 

Sam had to stay focused as he watched the entire New York Police Department shrink down to disappearing size, the wail of the sirens getting comically higher in pitch. “Oh lovely! We are so busted now!”

 

“Get me onto that plane.” Clint’s voice came through next. “I’m at your 3 O clock.”

 

Sam veered right and saw Clint, clad in his black and purple uniform, perched atop an adjacent building. He was not yet used to having “ride-ons”, as Steve called them, but they had been practicing the technique in the weeks leading up to the whole world turning against them. He went low and Clint lunged, latching on to the end of his jet-pack with flawless execution. He buried the thought of how awkard the two of them were going to appear on social media the following day and sped towards the QuinJet.

 

The plane was gaining air rapidly, and Sam had to lean in and give his tanks all the extra boosters he had as Clint fired a claw-like arrow at the ship’s hull. The ends dug in to the metal side and he pushed off, clammering onto its underbelly with a less-than-smooth landing.

 

“I’m staying right with you,” Sam said over the radio.

 

“No,” Clint replied. “The atmosphere’s going to get really thin if we keep climbing like this. I’ll get Vision. You go check on Wanda and Scott.”

 

“Roger.”

 

Clint slipped behind a wheel and found his way into the belly of the plane. “Somebody wanna tell me how many times we’re going to do this?” The knocked out the first few soliders who attacked, but Rumlow called them off.

 

“Clint, buddy, no need to get feisty.” Rumlow got up from the controls and hurled a punch, but Clint ducked, sending Rumlow’s fist straight through a control panel. The wires fizzled and flashed black and blue.

 

 

“Damn, Brock, did you get some upgrades in addition to your resurrection?” Clint kneed him in the gut.

 

Rumlow swept a leg underneath Clint’s and his head bounced off the floor. “Fuckin’ right I did.”

 

Clint effortlessly jabbed him in the ribs rolling away with a smirk on his face. “Too bad they couldn’t fix your face.”

 

“Cute.” Rumlow’s fist came down on Clint’s face, pummeling him into the metal arm of one of the jet’s leather seats  

 

“How ‘bout you, Bucky?,” Clint shouted behind him. “You glad to have your ugly-ass boyfriend back?”

 

Bucky shot a cold glare at him and jammed the controls downward, sending the jet into a swan-dive. Anything not tied down was floating.  

 

“Ya kidding me?” Rumlow’s body connected with Clint, shoving him into the metal wall, a fist closing around his throat. “He’s fuckin’ /thrilled/.”

 

“I do not see what use this banter is doing expedite my escape,” Vision stated matter-of-factly.

 

That was greeted by a simultaneous,“Shut up!”

 

Vision groaned as the light from the amulet in his forehead flickered in and out.

 

“Buckle up, bitches!” Rumlow announced as he punched out a window and sent Clint sailing through it.

 

“We’re losing cabin pressure,” Bucky growled, struggling to steady the controls without crushing them under his massive strength as the plane plummeted back down. They were now over water, at least. He got the jet leveled out, back on course and punched it. Within seconds they disappeared over the horizon.

 

* * * * *

 

“Don’t worry, Buddy! I’ve got you! “Clint was rescued safely from the waves, caught in the arms of a grinning Ant-Man. Bewildered, he glanced around him and frowned deeply.

 

“You rescued me on a ski-doo?”

 

“What,” Scott pouted. “Not good enough?”

 

“Is this a TOY ski-doo that you just…just blew up?”

 

“Hmm….it came with a remote control…so RT Toy Ski-Doo, technically.”

 

Clint glared. “…I hate you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vision is being held captive. Can Bucky be persuaded?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shit chapter, guys. Bucky and Steve coming soon!!!

Bucky kept his eyes on Vision the whole way through the mountains. There had been a quick transfer back across the ocean where Rumlow and Company had ditched the QuinJet at some remote island, set it on Auto Pilot and exploded it above the trees. Now, they were in a large van rattling down a craggy two-track with the all-too-familiar-by-now Winter Soldier staring him down.

His expression change subtly throughout the trip, and at one moment Vision almost thought he saw a look of remorse. Bucky’s hazel/gray eyes were tender, despite the hardness in his face and his deepening frown.

Vision leaned against the ragged leather chair as they bounced along. He fought the weakness and the urge to shut down and murmured, “Captain Rogers has been looking for you.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed. One of the armed men spun around in his chair and snapped , “No talking.”

Vision swallowed hard. He had never experienced a headache before—but he supposed that this is what it would have felt like---the stone fizzled as the glow faded in and out. But it did not stop him from noticing the sudden pained flash in the Winter Soldier’s eyes.

“Doesn’t matter, Hodges.” Rumlow chimed in, flashing a look over his shoulder. “Tell him anything you want, purple man. He’s not going to remember shit.”

Bucky’s lips parted, as if poised to say something, then his mouth slid closed. He shrugged the big gun on his shoulder in place and never broke eye contact, not even to blink. It was no secret the words hurt. Bucky was still Bucky, even with an electrode jamming his memory bank.

“I am terribly sorry,” Vision continued. He swallowed when a surge of dying energy sizzled through his core. “I know how much you mean to each other.”

“Oh Christ,” Rumlow snorted, then proceeded to make a retching noise and the men laughed.

Bucky cocked his head. “I thought he was wanted.”

“Indeed. He is. Along with Mr. Stark and the majority of the Avengers.”

Rumlow slithered into the back, hooking an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and flashing a disturbed grin Vision’s way. “Imagine that. Captain Steve Rogers, an outlaw. Not so different after all, now are we?” He gave Bucky’s shoulders a squeeze and Bucky tore his eyes away from the android to silently glare at his handler.

“He is looking for you as well, Captain Rumlow. And I cannot imagine he will be at all pleased to find that once again, you have endangered the life of his good friend.”

“Endangered?,” Rumlow hissed. “Fuck, I’ve given him his life back! They were going to keep him in that rat’s nest of a jungle, locked away in deep-freeze until time forgot. Not me. I didn’t forget. I came back. Busted him out of there.” Rumlow reverently tucked a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear as he turned to him, is voice softening. “Let him be the man he’s meant to be.”

“…you sound so certain,” Vision noted under his breath.

“Know what? Hodges was right. Shut your hole.”

Upon arrival, they strapped him into a chair with electrodes and wires hanging out of it. Vision didn’t have to ask what they wanted—the crack on the stone was slowly sealing back in on itself and causing the world around him to come more into focus. The technology looked familiar in some ways—archaic in comparison to Tony Starks’ latest inventions—with Hydra, Shield and Pym tech mixed in. All the guts of the contraption were laid bare, as if someone had been copying it from a manual and stopped halfway through. “Impressive.” Vision was not being sarcastic—the idea of all this weaponry and machinery having been collected, stored and used this deep in the mountains for god-knows-how-long undetected was mind-boggling, even for the android. Someone truly knew what they were doing.

“It’s all about location,” Taskmaster said, drifting down a set of metal staircase, his dingy cape flowing behind him. “Although combining the intel of several different world-known organizations and maximizing their effects to my standards…well, that was time-consuming to.” He slapped Rumlow on the back as he passed him by. “Good work. Not bad for only your second dry-run.”

“It helped that nobody else was home at the time. Though they did try and come to the rescue. Probably got nailed by the cops in the process. The Avengers Tower is decimated, though.” Rumlow said that last part with a big grin. “Can’t say I’ll miss it.”

“You’re damn lucky this stone is regenerative,” Taskmaster added, grabbing Vision’s head and turning it upward till their eyes met. He examined the crack, which sizzled and pulsed out a blinding yellow light. “Though I haven’t figured what I’m going to do with the rest of him yet. Maybe we’ll turn him into a coffee-maker.” This comment warranted a few chuckles from the crew.

“How much do you know about it?” Vision asked. He secretly flexed his balled-up fists, testing the strength he felt flowing back into his body.

“Enough to know it’s going to help us get the job done,” the skull-faced man said. “By the time I’m through, Hydra’s gonna look like a puppy pound compared to us.” He turned to a crate and broke it open with his fist, tearing out a clear bottle and tossing it to Rumlow. “To your victory.”

“Sweet.” Rumlow examined the bottle. “Bajika. Balkans?”

Taskmaster nodded. “Might not get you drunk, though, Rumlow. Side-effects of being a super-solider. Nevertheless, I want you to enjoy yourselves tonight, boys. You’ve earned it.”

* * * * *

Sometimes, Steve wished the serum had given him a truly helpful power. Being practically bulletproof came in handy, sure, but it couldn’t help him find the people he was supposed to be fighting…or fighting for. He wished he were psychic, some of the time, or could tell the future, or parts of it. He longed for it now more than ever, as he stepped over the bloody boot-prints that were slightly smaller than his.

/Chasing a ghost./

“They exited this way,” T’Challa said, leading them down the once-sterile hallway. He shook his head. “I still do not understand how they could have gotten in.”  
“It’s Rumlow,” Steve remarked, fingering the mess of wires that were gutted out of the control box to the Cryogenic chambers. “It’s like he’s made it his entire life to ruin mine.”

“Well, that’s a little cryptic, Steve.” Tony slid past, examining the wall structure built around the capsules. “You’re saying he got to Bucky just to get to you.”

“Sure seems like it. He did just try to kill me, after all.”

Tony chewed his lip. “I don’t know. Still feels like we’re missing something.”

A loud clack of heels racing down the hallway caused the men to turn. “Guys, we’ve got a problem.” Natasha was winded, a look of worry crossing her face, her cell phone clutched in her hand. “Avengers Tower just exploded.”

“Just what?,” Tony repeated.

“Clint called from the local precinct. They were all there—“

“Wait. Precinct? You mean they’ve been arrested?,” Steve asked.

Natasha nodded. “They took Vision.”

Tony stuck a hand out. “Wait. Who took Vision?”

She slid a daunting look over to Steve and nodded.

“Bucky,” Steve muttered.

* * * * *

The electromagnetic pulses vibrating across the tank-like structure scattered Vision’s thoughts and made it hard to keep two and two together. The stone in his forehead was nearly healed, but the barrier of interference kept him subdued

There must have been a large party going on upstairs—heavy electric-punk rock music blared through the ceiling above him and the constant inaudible chatter was quickly morphing into violent outbursts as one by one bodies hit the floor or knocked over furniture with in loud “thumps”.

He had to blink twice to make sure he was not seeing things as a figure in black slipped through the guards with a solemn nod to each and came into the soft blue light of the holding chamber.

Vision smiled softly. “They sent you to check on me.”

“To check your vitals, yeah.” Bucky tapped a keypad mindlessly, his eyes flickering back and forth, reading the results from the panel. “They’re going to erase you tomorrow.” Bucky’s eyes softened as they flickered up to meet Vision’s. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Do you remember our conversation through the mountains?” Vision asked, leaning up from the leather head-rest of the chair.

Bucky paused, his finger hovering over a button. “No,” he muttered, keeping his gaze downward.

“…I see.”

As if remembering a bittersweet scene from a movie, Bucky snorted softly and shook his head. “Give him a message for me, will you?” The machine buzzed and the electrodes faded and died—fizzling out in a spark of white. The guards turned their heads just as Bucky snapped the lock with his power-charged arm and Vision felt his all his senses coming back to life. Bucky stepped back as Vision launched himself out of the restraints with one powerful burst of light and hovered over the bewildered guards. “Tell him not to come.”

Vision extended a hand. “Come with me and tell him yourself.”

Bucky shook his head and snapped the necks of the two guards as more men rushed to the scene. “I can’t. You tell him, though, yeah?”

“I will do as you request, Sergeant Barnes. Thank you.”

With that, he burst out of the roof of the muli-level complex and disappeared over the mountains.

Bucky jumped on the snowmobile parked out front—he was faster than any of the other men present, and it was a good thing, too. There had been no time to grab a jacket. No matter. The cryogenic freezing process had made him impervious to the cold, except that his metal arm was a little more stiff than usual. Within seconds, he had a team of guys on his tail. No problem.

A quick jaunt through the tree-infested hillside had his pursuers eating bark in no-time, wrapped around their smoking steel machines in fiery clusters. To his left, a lone rider approached.

Rumlow.

He feigned right, whipping past a grouping of rocks. A shot rang out and the engine started smoking. He climbed the crest of a hill, scanning the horizon quickly for a smooth landing and came plummeting down the other side. The snowmobile flipped and he was thrown off, into the rocks and snow. He tumbled a few times, latching on to the ground with his steel hand to stop himself.

Rumlow rode past, tossing out one of those magnetic tracers that Bucky hated so much. He tried to roll away, but it followed and latched on to his wrist, rendering his robotic arm useless. The electricity crackled, mixing charged heat with the snow and melting it into his gears. He cried out in pain, clutching his arm even as Rumlow stuck a lightning rod out to blow against his back. Rumlow had misjudged Bucky’s resilience, and the force of the blow knocked him off the bike. Bucky brought a foot down on the rod, flipping it up into his own hands, coming to stare down his handler.

Rumlow ripped off his helmet and launched it at the snow. “Really disappointed in you, Soldier.”

Bucky took a step forward and cracked the lightning rod. “Stay back.”

Rumlow shook his head. “Too late for that, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to fight you!” Bucky’s shoulders sagged and he drew in a ragged breath. Rumlow’s boots made heavy tracks in the snow as he advanced.

“Just tell me one thing.” Rumlow stopped just inches from Bucky and a white puff of breath curled around his mouth. “Was it so bad? I mean, we were good, weren’t we? So fucking good. I did you right. You know that. This was a chance—OUR chance. And you fucked me over. Why, Bucky? Can I call you that—“Bucky”? Or is that just a special name that your Captain calls you?”

Bucky bit down on the inside of his lip and tipped his chin up. “This has nothing to do with him. This is between you and me.”

“It was just never between us,” Rumlow growled. “I was never quite good enough for you, huh? No matter what I did for you, or how many times I did it. But you know, I’ve just got to wonder…would he ever want you if he knew how many times you’ve taken my cock?”

“Shut up!” The metal rod roared to life in a blaze of blue light and Bucky brought it down with a roar. Rumlow easily countered, his boot connecting with Bucky’s shin and sending him down to the ground. He wrapped a bicep around Bucky’s neck and squeezed.

Bucky grappled as Rumlow growled into his ear, “What would he do? Huh? If he knew his precious Bucky was just a green-eyed cock-whore?”

Bucky didn’t drop the baton, though. He jabbed it into Rumlow’s side and rode out the pulses, savoring Rumlow’s scream even as the electricity fried both of them. Rumlow eventually grabbed hold of the rod, but lost his grip on Bucky and they both stumbled away from each other.

“He’s gonna kill you, Solider. You just took out some of his top dogs. Task doesn’t go easy on traitors.”

“Then let him. And leave me be.” Bucky hurled a wad of spit at the ground, clutching his metal arm. He couldn’t be sure, but in that moment Rumlow’s eyes seemed to flash a hurtful look. Rumlow steadied the lightning rod, lining it up with Bucky’s side and lunging straight at him. Bucky rolled, connecting his fist with Rumlow’s back. Rumlow toppled forward, but from somewhere underneath of him the rod snapped up and landed into Bucky’s stomach. The heat and the smell of burning flesh and the breaking synapses assaulted his body as he convulsed into a mass in the snow. Rumlow crawled on top, straddling Bucky’s waist and gathering his lifeless metal hand together with the flesh one. He threw down the rod, grappling with Bucky’s hair, completing the hold.

“I can’t, baby.” Rumlow squeezed his eyes shut tight, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s. “I just can’t. Don’t ask me to do that.” There was always hope that Taskmaster would be merciful, but Rumlow knew better. At the very least, Bucky’s memory would once again be completely erased and they’d have to start all over again. Maybe that would be for the better? Rid Bucky of Steve once and for all—then maybe he could be completely Rumlow’s.

Bucky stared off into the distance, letting out a ragged breath as unconsciousness took hold.

  
* * * * *

Steve looked out the open end of the plane, staring down at the dense, snow-covered terrain a mile below. “Double-check the coordinates,” he ordered, and the pilot nodded.

The wind was so cold it blasted his face with frost. He shrugged his pack on and tightened his grip on his shield. If Vision’s positioning had been right on, the guy called Taskmaster had a hideout just miles away from the drop zone.

“We’re good,” the pilot said.

It had been a lot of work convincing Tony to go back with Natasha and hash out the details of the Avengers Tower that lay in rubble. Their teammates—which were probably halfway through booking by then—were going to need all the help they could get. Maybe Tony could save whatever was left of the Avengers’ reputation. Maybe Steve was using that as an excuse to go on this mission solo.

In any event, it was now or never. He had to bring Bucky home. Steve kept kicking himself for ever having let him go in the first place. Even though it was Bucky’s choice… was it really? Or was it really just Bucky punishing himself for all that had happened? Not wanting to get in Steve’s way?

Steve felt sick to his stomach. And it wasn’t because of the altitude.

He let in a deep breath and murmured, “Hold on, Buck. I’m coming for ya.” His feet left the landing and touched the clouds.

He was airborne.

 


	8. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain comes to the rescue...sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, this whole fic has dissolved into complete trash. I suck at action scenes, but I think the concept is there and the long-awaited showdown was fun to write. Do not despair, there will be one more chapter after this. It's all going to be okay. I have to keep telling myself that.

Bucky's screams peeled through the halls of the steel-framed complex, threatening to shatter the glass cage that surrounded him. Taskmaster lifted his skull-shaped hood over his mouth and took a swig of coffee as he looked on.

 

“It’s been two hours, Task. I think he gets the point.” Rumlow was standing beside him, leaning against a metal chair. He wasn’t fooling anyone—his thin look of feigned disinterest was belied by the white-knuckled grip he kept on the back of the chair as he clearly fought to keep himself in check.

 

“You sure about that?” Task tilted his head, the hollow black eyes of his mask boring holes in Rumlow’s skull. “Because I’m not so sure he does.”

 

Suspended above their heads by thin piano wire, Bucky’s flesh hand was bloody and cut to pieces, his arm twisted unnaturally backwards as his feet kicked in the air, grasping for leverage that wasn’t there.

 

“You should be thanking me, Brock. I’m only keeping him alive because you have proven your loyalty by bringing him back for punishment. What was it you Strike operatives love to say? Order through pain, was it?”

 

Rumlow swallowed sharply, gritting his teeth. “Something like that.”

 

“Well, there you have it. I’m just getting my fun in before we erase him for good. I take it you’re used to that drill by now.”

 

A sudden snapping sound redirected them to glance upward at the cage. Bucky’s mouth hung open wide in a silent scream. He was now hanging lopsided, his flesh arm dangling from his shoulder like a piece of thin spaghetti. His eyes fluttered closed and his head fell to forward to his chest.

 

“You’re going to tear his arms off,” Rumlow hissed desperately.

 

“Just the one,” Taskmaster corrected. “Not like we can’t replace it. I need soldiers, Brock. Men who are willing to do anything and everything I ask. I brought you back for that exact reason—don’t make me regret it.”

 

He frowned when a jolt of electricity failed to rouse the soldier’s lifeless form, and let out a dissatisfied grunt. He raised a gloved hand, waving to the man at the controls. “Bring him down.”

 

Bucky’s body landed in a heap on the wired chair below, the same chair that Vision had been held captive in just hours earlier. Rumlow didn’t wait for permission and didn’t ask for it. He rushed in to the holding cell, punching the buttons to the lock until the door hissed open and gathering Bucky in his arms. Rumlow’s fingers went to Bucky’s jugular.

 

“I am sure it takes more than that to kill a super-soldier,” Taskmaster said.

 

Upon finding a pulse, Rumlow’s shoulders sagged a little in relief. “Hang in there,” he murmured softly, cradling Bucky’s limp arm close to his body.

 

Task snorted out a laugh and threw down the mug, shattering it on the blood-stained floor. "He killed my men, Rumlow. Some of my favorites. Sanderson. Lloyd. Allens. They’re asses are going to have to stay in the deep freeze till spring, or I get enough Pym particles to resurrect them. That’s a lot of time and a lot of resources that don’t come cheap.”

 

“Their dumb asses went after him! I’m the one who could bring him back! His mission is to protect me at all cost. They should’ve listened. He is completely under my control.” 

 

“…That black eye of yours would suggest otherwise.”

 

Rumlow stared down at Bucky’s sleeping face, twisted and warped in agony even in his unconscious state. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll erase him, like you said. Start over again.”

 

Taskmaster drew closer, grinding the ceramic shards under his boot. “You sound less than thrilled at that prospect.”

 

Rumlow swallowed deeply, his thumb caressing a wet strand of hair from Bucky’s eyes. “He was given to me, you know. To protect. To condition. After years of being told I wasn’t nothing, just another assbag grunt not worthy to lick the shit from Pierce’s boots, I get a promotion, a pair of wings on my chest and grunts of my own. Trained ‘em hard, too. All of them. But none of them showed half the spirit that Winter did. It was no wonder Hydra used him for all those experiments. He refused to break. I had to knock his ass down hard, you know? Shove his face into the shit and the dirt. Break his arms, his legs, his teeth. Just to do it all again the next day. Still, he’d just stare at me. And his eyes were just…defiant. The kind of hardness that torture can’t break. And as pissed off as that made me at the guy…hell…I admired him all the more. Respected him. That was when I realized he was three times the man that I was.”

 

Bucky’s eyes batted open, a moan scraping at the insides of his throat.

 

“What was it that finally broke him?” Taskmaster peered down in eerie fascination, planting one booted foot just in front of where Rumlow knelt.

 

Rumlow shook his head slowly, a bittersweet smile crossing his face. “We never did. Not really. That was the importance of erasing him the first few times. Drilling what we wanted into his head—making him believe he was some goddamned Messiah—that his work was changing the world for the better. We didn’t break him. We brainwashed him, sure. Reprogrammed him, beat the shit out of him when he fought back. But in the end, we were utilizing the same stubborn will that he always had. So take it from my experience…” Rumlow looked with a gleam of defiance in his eyes. “…you’ll never break him.”

 

Taskmaster huffed under his breath . “If you believe that, then you are as foolish as he is.” He waved a few men over. “Gear him up, boys. We need to erase him completely, this time. No half-assed attempts like Hydra did.”

 

“Can’t let you do that, Task.”

 

The sound of a hammer sliding back on a pistol made Taskmaster’s ears prick up. “You can’t be serious.” He slid into a confident sneer, one fist planted on his hip. “Do you have any idea what you owe me? I brought you back, you ingrate. Made you a god among men! And you’re going to—what—throw it all away for some brainwashed butt-buddy?”

 

“I am grateful, Task. I really am.” Rumlow’s tongue flicked out over his split lip, smearing the dried blood. “Let me rehabilitate him. I—I can do it. He will listen to me.”

 

“Will he? It seems you have done a pretty shitty job of teaching the whelp his place, so far. He needs to be wiped.” Tasks’s eyes narrowed. “And you need to lower that gun before you do anything stupid.”

 

A bright flash of light followed by deafening clanging of pipes and wires exploded above their heads. Taskmaster turned, his torn cape swirling in the sudden ash and sparks, to see a bright red shield ricocheting around the beams that held so much of the technology in place. The lights of the entire building flickered and faded, and emergency lighting automatically clicked on, bathing the entire place in red.

 

“Not a very secure entrance,” Steve said, landing with all his super-solider weight at the top of the stairs.

 

Taskmaster’s eyes flashed and his face lit up with a delighted smile. “Captain Rogers! How nice of you to come by!”

 

Bucky groaned in Rumlow’s arms, shifting drowsily.

 

The shield sailed back to its owner. “Nice entrance,” Rumlow muttered as Steve caught it in an iron grip.

 

“I don’t know who you are—“ Steve began, trotting down the steps. The first soldier that dared to rush at him got a mouthful of vibranium and was flung haphazardly over the railing with a “crack”.The second got a boot to the chest and tumbled backward, landing sprawled on the pavement below. “—but you are going to let him go.”

 

Rumlow and the Captain’s eyes met. Rumlow’s searing glare softened as Bucky murmured inaudibly in his grip. “For once, Cap…” Rumlow choked down his pride, steadying the gun on the skull-faced assailant “…we’re on the same side.”

 

“We were never on the same side,” Steve said, flinging his shield upward and obliterating the mess of wires in the ceiling above his head.

 

“Stand down!,” Taskmaster bellowed, raising a hand to his soldiers. “He is mine.” The warriors circled each other, Taskmaster uncoiling a long, winding whip from around his arm as it sparked to life. Steve raised his shield, warily side-stepping some fallen wires. Taskmaster lunged first, drawing out the whip and cracking it, sending blue light skittering across the ground. Steve’s shield sailed across his chest, Steve’s eyes widening when the skull-faced man caught it in his gloved grip. “Surprised, Captain? I’ve been watching you for a very, very long time.”

 

Steve spun around, his boot connecting with the shield in a powerful kick that sent Taskmaster sprawling, but not before throwing the whip and having it wrap around Steve’s legs, bringing him down with it. The crackle of electric energy made Steve shudder and cry out, and Taskmaster raised the shield over his head, bringing it down with a roar.

 

Steve rolled and Rumlow fired, Taskmaster using the shield to block the shot and lunging towards Rumlow, who had by now discarded the pistol in favor of bringing a huge piece of fallen metal up to his chest as a deterrent.

 

Barely conscious, Bucky used his metal arm as leverage and slithered closer to the cover of the holding-chair.

 

Steve grasped the sizzling cord, fighting his muscles as they cramped up from the sting, finally kicking the whip off just in time to see Rumlow ramming the sharp edge of metal into Taskmaster’s side. “How about that?,” Steve said as Taskmaster bellowed and gripped his side. “He bleeds red.”

 

“Steve..?” Bucky murmured, one eye sliding barely open.

 

“I got you, buddy. I’m here.”

 

“Aww, how sweet,” Taskmaster taunted in between pained grunts.

 

“Stand down.” Steve plucked the shield from the gash it made in the concrete, angling it to Taskmaster’s throat.

 

Task balled up a wad of spit and blood and projected out of the side of his mouth. “Well, seeing as you already destroyed half my complex…”

 

“More than half,” came a raspy voice behind him. Cradling his flesh arm, Bucky aimed a broken shard of glass at the back of Taskmaster’s neck. Taskmaster swallowed. “You have about thirty seconds before his whole building comes down.”

 

Bucky hadn’t ever been planning to stay. In the days of training prior, he had been spending his time planting the explosives from the back of the van onto various weak points in Taskmaster’s hideout. It hadn’t been an easy task, but it was one that, given the circumstances, was necessary.

 

Steve’s eyes flashed. Bucky gave him a tired grin and pushed a button. “29 seconds…28….”

 

They made it outside just as a flash of yellow lit up the night sky. Taskmaster and his crew had probably gotten out by way of some back escape, but Steve had shamelessly carried Bucky bridal-style down the side of the mountain, with Rumlow in the lead, as the ash and snow fell down. Steve brought his shield over his head to protect them both from the large chunks while Rumlow dashed behind a large tree. “I’ve got you,” Steve muttered under his breath, close by Bucky’s ear.

 

Within minutes, the majority of the debris settled and what was left came down in black shreds, falling silently on the white banks.

 

“You alright?” Steve tossed off large chunks of twisted metal as he peeled back his shield and shifted off of Bucky, laying him down in the snow as gently as he could as ash and debris floated to the ground around them. 

 

“Define alright,” Bucky groaned. The explosion woke him up enough that he was able to perch on his elbows, his dislocated arm already healing thanks to the serum. He felt Steve shift to his feet and pluck his shield from the ground. “What are you doing?” He raised a sleepy eyebrow, watching his back as he stalked down the hill towards Rumlow. “Steve…” He rolled to his side and watched helplessly as Steve hacked into the tree, ramming the shield into it just above Rumlow’s head. 

 

“Jesus!” Rumlow jumped, covering his head from the falling branches. “What the fuck?!” 

 

“What did you do to him?!”

 

“Easy, big guy.” Rumlow rolled away, crouching in a defensive pose at the oncoming juggernaut.

 

The shield ripped forwsrd, slicing a gash a mile wide in Rumlow’s chest. Rumlow stumbled backward, staring down at himself as the blood spattered to the ground.

 

“Stop!,” Bucky barked, lunging forward. He flew into the air, launching himself at Steve’s back, snaking his metal arm around his throat and knocking him backwards.

 

Steve turned to glare at him, a look of pain and disbelief crossing his face

 

“Just stop.” Bucky’s voice was ragged, his breath bellowing from his trembling lips. He held him down with one arm clamped to his neck. Steve obeyed, the back of his head mushing into the mound of snow.

 

“He’s out of danger, boss,” Rumlow said as he approached, clutching the wound. “Let’s not make this any worse.” He balled up a bloody wad of spit and projected it out of the side of his mouth.

 

“If you had any feeling in you, you would have left him in Wakanda.”  Steve went suddenly rigid, sitting up and turning to face Rumlow. He crouched and raised his hand in the air. “You traitorous piece of shit.” The shield sailed back around, finding its owner. Steve raised the sheild and Bucky grabbed it from behind, tearing away. 

 

Steve reeled. 

 

“I said don’t,” Bucky growled. 

 

“Good boy,” muttered Rumlow. 

 

Steve charged forward sans-shield, plowing into Rumlow’s already injured side, launching them both over the steep enbankment.

 

“He’s not going to stop!” Rumlow glared, twisting on top as they landed hard in the snow. His fist connected with Steve’s nose, spattering bright red blood into the snow. “He answers to me.”

 

“I’m not answering to anybody.” Bucky arrived seconds after, using the shield batter against the back of Rumlow’s brain, knocking him off Steve. “You both need to stop!”

 

“Why don’t you explain?” Rumlow clutched his side, grinning. “Why don’t you tell him why, Winter?”

 

“His name is Bucky.”

 

“Ohhhh, that’s right. Your precious baby boy, ain’t that right, Cap?”

 

“Stop…” Bucky’s voice was a whisper. 

 

“Except he’s not yours.”

 

“He desn’t BELONG to anybody, Rumlow! That’s what you don’t get!”

 

Rumlow sank down into the snow, his exhaustion showing. His defiant smile gleamed. “He’s my ward, Cap. He was given to me to train. He’s all mine. Ask him.”

 

Steve shook his head in disbelief. “You’re delusional.” He looked upwards towards Bucky, who was still clutching his flesh arm. All the light had gone out of his eyes, and it was becoming clear to Steve that Bucky was refusing to look at either of them, his gaze pointed shamefully down at the ground. “Buck?”

 

“You shouldn’t have come.” When his eyelashes lifted and the light returned to his face, it almost seemed as if Steve was looking at a completely different person. There was unquenchable sadness, there—the kind of loss that leaves a mark that never goes away. “I told him to tell you, but I knew you wouldn’t listen.”

 

Steve shook his head “no”, a sad smile crossing his lips. “Course not, Buck. I never learn, remember?”

 

The hardness in Bucky’s eyes returned, staring down his old friend, a lump visible in his throat that he couldn’t quite swallow down. “Go, Steve. I want you to go.”

 

In that instant, Steve looked like he had gotten the wind knocked out of him. “Bucky—“

 

“I said GO!” Bucky snapped. “You say I am my own person. That I don’t belong to anyone. Then you go and pull this shit? Like, what the fuck am I to you, Rogers?”

 

‘Rogers’. That hurt. Steve’s head went back as he lifted himself off of the ground, his shield scraping against the rocks and dirt and debris as he pulled it to his side. “But…what if you don’t know what you’re saying?”

 

“Believe me. I do.” Bucky scrounged around on the Mountain floor, fumbling for the radio that Steve had lost in the tussle. He flipped it to him, and Steve caught it without breaking eye contact with his best friend. “Now get the fuck out of here. Go home.” Buck turned to Rumlow, offering a hand down and threading his good arm around Rumlow’s waist as he helped him stand to his feet. He circled around Steve, not glancing back, going up the hill with the burned-out complex looming in front of them. 

 

Steve swallowed hard but found no trace of moisture to complete the action. His mouth hung open, frosty air biting at the back of his throat.

 

He launched himself at Bucky, knocking the two apart and grabbing desperately at the frozen metal of Bucky’s arm, yanking him backward. “Steve—!!!” Bucky’s eyes flew open as he stared up at him, hot tears staining his eyes red and threatening to fall down his frost-nipped cheeks. “What the fuck are you doing—???!”

 

Before Bucky could tear himself away, the super-soldier swung an arm around his back, capturing his waist and drawing him close enough for Bucky to smell the cinnamon aftershave on his skin. “Something I should have done a long time ago.” Steve felt a rush of heat stabbing into his face even as his hands knotted around Bucky’s waist, shaking and unsteady. He leaned down and planted his baby-soft lips on Bucky’s, opening them ever so gently, breathing in Bucky’s spicy scent. Bucky stumbled back, his lips pursed, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip, but Steve expertly worked them open, and Bucky gave a little moan as he melted into the touch. A gloved hand fluttered up to Steve’s face, and it was Steve’s turn to gasp a little when he felt Bucky’s tongue press against bottom lip.

 

Bucky’s mouth was gone in an instant, the warmth from his closeness replaced by a resounding “POP” sound. It took a moment for the pain in his nose to register and for the blood to begin gushing, watery and hot, down into his mouth. “Shit…” He hissed as he collected the blood on the tips of his fingers, staring down disbelievingly at it, then back up to Bucky’s rage-filled eyes.

 

“No. No, I’m sorry. You don’t get to do that.” Bucky shook his head wildly. “Not now. Not after all these years.”

 

“You should listen to ‘im, Cap,” Rumlow chimed in.

 

“YOU shut UP!” Bucky barked, spinning around and raising his metal fist threateningly, the blue stones in his knuckles crackling to life, electricity flaring out in sparks across his arm.

 

“Okay, okay…Jesus.” Rumlow’s hands went up defensively.

 

Bucky directed back at Steve once more, brown hair swirling around his face. “Now, are you going to call your pilot, or am I going to have to make you leave?”

 

“Little late for that,” Steve muttered, glancing upward into the sky. Through the hazy clouds came the roar of a massive engine and a big black metal bird descended. The wind gusted and blew snow and debris all around. Before the plane landed, a red and gold suit of armor came rocketing out, pausing mid-air in front of them.

 

“Oh lovely.” Rumlow rolled his eyes.

 

“How are things, Captain?” Tony’s voice chimed, distorted from within the Iron Man suit. The suit waved and Bucky frowned. “Hey, Barnes,” the less-than-thrilled voice droned out.

 

Steve wiped away what blood he could and straightened his stance. “Hey Tony.” He glanced at the plane as the rest of the Avengers piled out. “What are you guys doing here?”

 

“Uhm…” Tony looked behind him, then back at the Captain. “Saving you?”

 

“What about the—the Accords?”

 

The Iron Man suit shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s a long story, but I convinced the proper authorities that this one’s on us.”

 

* * * * *

 

Convincing Bucky to board the plane was a lot easier once Rumlow was secured into the restraints. The ride back was uncomfortable to say the least. T’Challa had tried to smooth things over by joking to Bucky that he could freeze Rumlow in the new cryogenic chambers, but that didn’t do much to life his spirits.

 

“This is odd,” Natasha said under her breath as she pressed a fresh cloth to Steve’s nose. Steve winced and tipped his head forward to let the blood dribble out. “I would think that it’d be impossible to pull you away from him. Yet you two are as far away from each other as this cabin will allow.” She tilted her head. “Something I should know?”

 

Steve slid a desperate look over at Bucky, whose eyes were firmly glued to the open sky as they sailed through, his mouth curled downward into a firm pout as he held his torn shoulder with his metal hand. “Uh….no. NO, Tosh. There’s nothing to say.”

 

Natasha gave him a concerned look as she dabbed at his face.

 

Steve hissed inward. “Owh.”

 

The plane sailed through the wispy clouds, leaving the smoking rubble of Taskmaster’s complex behind.

 

“Hey Cap, how’s your nose?” Rumlow said, hanging suspended to the holding wall, a heavy electrical collar secured around his neck.

 

Clint kicked at Rumlow’s leg from the position where he stood guard. “Shut up, you.”

 

Tony slid backwards onto an inactive control panel and took his helmet off, scrubbing at his flattened hair. “As the resident scientific genius here, I know I should know the answer to this but…just how in the hell did they manage to scrape enough of you off the building to bring you back?”

 

Rumlow grinned. “I just missed you all so much, a little genie granted my wish.”

 

“Yeah, too bad they couldn’t fix your face,” Tony grumbled.

 

Rumlow scowled his perfectly-formed eyebrows and snuffed. “Yeah, hah, hah, Stark. Very cute.”

 

* * * * *


	9. Captain America: Retribution (movie poster)

[](http://s611.photobucket.com/user/Jamie_Lyn_Gaskin/media/2016-11-19%2019.22.39_zpsdgxcgtxs.jpg.html)


	10. Capter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many *feels*. The "official" end. (epilogue to follow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Total sappy trash.

 

 

_A random Tuesday in 1932_

It was a pretty dumb idea, Steve admitted to himself. It was after dinner and they were both on his mother’s living room floor and the radio was still on, schoolbooks and papers strewn about the room because the two of them were supposed to be studying. (How exactly do you force yourself to study when the Yankees are down by seven and Lou Gehrig’s up to bat?) Well, the game was over but Fred Astaire’s velvety voice was soaring through the crackling static to the tune of “Night And Day”.

 

But leaving the radio on was not the dumb idea.

 

The dumb idea came when Steve admired the curve of Bucky’s spine as he lay curled up on his side, a couch pillow propping his head up. It was clear to Steve, then, that Adonis had come down just to fall asleep on his living room floor. His cinnamon-brown hair stuck up in tufts from the wrinkled pillow. His shirt was rumpled up around his belly, the scrappy ab muscles that Bucky had fought so many street fights for peeking shamelessly out at Steve.  Bucky’s ratty corduroys could not conceal his shapely, muscular legs, and his toes were so perfectly curled. Steve reached beneath the sturdy wooden legs of the couch, sliding a tattered, cloth-covered sketchbook out. He hunched into position, his face hovering inches from Bucky’s as he began a rough outline. Bucky’s face was so angelic and his eyelashes so long that Steve had to re-define his jawline a few times to stop him from looking like a girl. He bit down on his tongue as it poked out the side of his mouth and worked furiously, fearful that at any moment the lanky brunet might move.

 

“You drawing me, Stevie?”

 

Steve froze—the pencil skittering off the page and dropping to the floor as he felt the heat rush to his face. He inhaled slowly, in hopes that an answer—or at least an excuse—might surface on his tongue when he could no longer breathe inward and would be forced to speak. “Uhm….”

 

When Bucky let out a soft snort, Steve dared to look up at him, and was surprised to see that Bucky had not moved a centimeter from his sleeping position. His arm was still tucked under the pillow, hair spilling wildly over it. Only, now his gleaming green eyes were open and dancing in the firelight, an impish grin crossing his face. “Why you blushin’?” He snickered when Steve ducked his face behind the safety of his sketchbook. “S’okay, pal. I don’t mind.”

 

Steve blinked. His skittish blue eyes slowly rose from the pages. “…really?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Sure, why not. It’s a good excuse for me to keep nappin’.”

 

Steve laughed nervously, his bony fingers finding the pencil and once again putting it to the paper. “O-okay…”

 

When Steve looked back at it, this was the moment. This was the moment he fell in love with Bucky. The entire world fell away, leaving two teenagers in the middle of it, in a hole of an apartment with an iron stove for heat and it didn’t matter, nothing mattered any more, except that they were together and that Steve’s skilled hand was capturing the most beautiful being he had ever seen, encapsulating the moment. Breathing life into it. Solidifying it. Letting it sink deep, deep into his skin and his memories and his eyes, covering every inch of who Bucky was—who Bucky *is*.

 

He didn’t say the words. He hadn’t needed to. Whatever *they* were, whatever *they* became, was okay and right and Steve was just happy that he was along for the ride. That didn’t mean that Steve wouldn’t be gripping himself hours later, under the thin cotton covers of his bed, panting as he *focused* on the memory of the lines of Bucky’s face, his thick, pouty lips, his haunting emerald eyes, climaxing into his closed fist to the shuddering whisper of Bucky’s name on his lips.

 

It was in that moment, Bucky became his everything.

 

* * * * *

 

>>>>CNN Special Report<<<<<

 

Good evening and thanks for joining us. I’m Ashley Williams. More Sokovia Accords Drama unfolded tonight after the verdict of New York Vs. Rogers, in which the aptly-named “Captain America” and his staff came to an agreement of terms that would once and for all solidify the Avengers’ place in Accords lineup. Prosecutors have agreed to not seek litigation against the members of the Avengers, including Tony Stark, who aided Mr. Rogers in the latest heist to re-capture his war-time teammate, James Buchanan Barnes.  In a shocking twist of events, Steve Rogers announced Tuesday his plans to step down as Captain America and retire his shield and weaponry. While The Avengers begin the search for their new Captain, Tony Stark and teammates will answer to the authority of state and federal governments regarding their missions. S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Mr. Nicholas Fury was not available for comment.

 

Steve Rogers was charged with Reckless Vigilantism and has been sentenced to three month’s House Arrest at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New York Compound. The Compound will also host the nerve center for the Avengers, while their downtown Manhattan complex is being rebuilt.

 

Shocking developments continue in the sudden re-appearance of the man thought responsible for the bombing of the Avengers Tower. In a separate trial, Captain Brock Rumlow, formerly of S.H.I.E.L.D., has pled guilty to numerous charges including 34 counts of 1st-Degree Murder, Grand Larceny, Abduction, Unlawful Confinement of an International Bionic Weapon, three counts of Arson Resulting in Death, One count of Willful Malicious Destruction, four counts of Attempted Murder and several counts of Unlawful Possession of Military-Grade Assault Weapons. It is unknown whether or not he acted within the confines of his self-made Assault Team or if there was another entity aiding his cause. He will face trial Friday in a Wakandan Court for his role in the Cryogenic Laboratory Massacre.

 

Mr. James Barnes, a.k.a. “The Winter Soldier”, has been court-ordered to undergo psychological evaluation to determine his mental state and ability to become a functioning member of society. In the meantime, he has been placed under the watch-care of S.H.I.E.L.D. and fitted with a tracking device that will monitor his movements. The Human Rights League, or HRL, is calling for Mr. Barnes’ release, spurring an outcry from protestors that claim he is a menace to society and must be held accountable for the many crimes he committed under alleged mind-control by the ultra-secret international organization, Hydra.

 

A spokesperson for the Avengers released this statement in response to Captain America’s abrupt and startling resignation: “We are deeply saddened to hear that compliance from Mr. Rogers was not recognized. We respect his decision to step down as the leader of the Avengers and wish him nothing but the best as he begins his life as a common citizen. However, we wish to remind him that any use or exercise of his superhuman abilities against another person, persons or establishment will be considered a breach of the Sokivia Accords Agreement and punishable by law.”

 

>>>>This has been a CNN Special Report<<<<<

 

* * * * *

 

The looming metal door slid open with a hiss and brown hiking boots attached to a metal-armed soldier stepped inside.

 

If Steve were here, he’d be asking Bucky if he was sure about this. He’d clap a solid hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeeze down reassuringly. Bucky glanced over said shoulder, half-expecting to see the tall blond waiting for him in the wings, and blew out a heavy breath when he realized he was truly alone. Bucky’s metal arm hung lifelessly at his side, a magnetic ring stuck fast to his wrist. The guards said it was just basic procedure. The dumb shits. Didn’t they realize that the Serum alone gave him the power to do whatever the hell he wanted? He wasn’t here looking for a fight.

 

Bucky half-ignored the figure looming in the shadows of the sealed-in room and stalked over to the empty chair. He shoved his fists deep inside his gray hoodie and let his hair hang in his eyes. The tall figure stepped close, chains rattling around his ankles, as calloused fingers reached through to wrap around the bars. “Hey, beautiful,” the gravelly voice said.

 

Bucky huffed and shifted his weight in the chair, his eyes flicking up to glance at the prisoner.

 

“I knew you’d come.” Rumlow cracked a disturbingly familiar smile, his tongue flicking out over his lips. “Did you wanna give it one more go, for old time’s sake?”

 

Bucky growled. “What do you think?”

 

Rumlow sniffed and looked down at his feet. “Nah, I s’pose not. Hey. Heard about your precious Captain. Sounds like you two will have plenty of time to spend together, yeah?”

 

Just because they were stuck in the same building together didn’t mean they were getting along. At this point, Bucky was not even recognizing Steve’s existence let alone talking to him.  Steve’s attempts to corner Bucky in the hall as they passed each other or leave letters under his door at night fell flaccid; Bucky ignored it all. Sam had intervened, too, and that only made matters worse—Bucky’s glares towards Steve managed to get even colder, somehow. Sam would try to convey messages, and it would end with Sam on the other side of a metal door as Bucky threw vases, tables…anything that wasn’t bolted to the floor was fair game.

 

“Hey…” Rumlow’s finger stroked one of the bars in a smooth motion, up and down. Bucky focused on it, mostly because that way he wasn’t looking directly at his face. “You make sure he treats you good. He better treat my baby right.”

 

Bucky snorted. “You’re a sick man, Brock. I sincerely hope you get the help you need.”

 

Both his eyebrows went up. “Well isn’t that nice of you. Got you a shrink, did they? So you’ve been working out all those angsty anger issues? How bout at night, Bucky? Does it help with the dreams?”

 

Bucky’s eyes flashed and his head snapped to the side, a sudden flash of panic raging through him. A low growl rumbled through his throat as he struggled to gain control. “Shut up.”

 

“Didn’t think so.” Rumlow slid away from the bars and perched on a hard, body-sized metal shelf. “I know what to do, though, don’t I, sweetheart? Your old man knows how to make it allllll go away.”

 

Bucky’s flesh hand flew to his face and he rubbed furiously downward.

 

“I’d hold you so tight your breathing stopped. Remember that? I’d put pressure on both sides of your jugular and choke you out. Then, just as you were about to pass out, you’d snap awake. I’d hold you and rock you back to sleep. Remember that, Winter? Of course you do.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice was shaky, ragged. “Yes I remember that.” Bucky licked his lips, shifting uncomfortably in the squeaky metal chair.

 

“C’mon, baby.” Rumlow leaned forward, his dark blue eyes beckoning to him. “We can be like that again. God, I miss that. You, me, cigarettes in bed and a 5th of Jack.”

 

“You’re wrong,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “We’re done. After this, you’ll never see me again.”

 

“You sound pretty sure, there, Princess.” The sad, nearly desperate tone belied the mocking words. He shrugged. “But, I guess, you’re boyfriend’s back in town. Ain't that just how the story goes.”

 

Bucky swallowed back the urge to call Rumlow out on his bullshit, remembering the words of wisdom from one of his many court-appointed Counselors, that it would only be giving Rumlow validation. And that validation equaled control. He rolled his head back in his hoodie, blowing a wisp of hair out of his vision. “You can’t get to me anymore, Brock,” he stated as if repeating a mantra. “Without that little blue electrode, your words are worthless.”

 

“…I know,” Rumlow muttered finally. His expression sank into an earnest, uncertain glance at his former ward. “It wasn’t all bad, though, was it?”

 

“No,” Bucky said, his voice softening. A sad smile curled the edges of his mouth. “No it wasn’t.”

 

“I mean, we were good together weren’t we?” Rumlow nodded his head as he reminisced, folding his hands together between his knees. “We were fucking amazing.”

 

Bucky brushed away some wetness from his face, staring down at his fingers. They were smeared with his own tears. He hid his face and sniffed. “Look, they uh…” He dug in his pocket, producing a lighter and a slightly warped cigarette. “They let me in with this.”

 

Rumlow quirked his head. “Got one for you, too?”

 

“Of course.” Bucky lit both cigarettes, coming to stand in front of the cell and slipping one through the bars.

 

Rumlow took it in his pursed lips, inhaling deeply and letting out a satiated groan. “Thank you.” He puffed greedily, probably more out of habit than actual need.

 

Bucky nodded and put his back to the bars, letting the nicotine go to work and remembering a time when it actually calmed his nerves.

 

“You know, I never thought I’d say this….” Rumlow stared at the back of Bucky’s head, at the cinnamon-colored hair flowing down the hoodie. “But being a Super-soldier blows.”

 

Bucky let out a laugh—a genuine, gut-peeling laugh—and flicked some ash off his tongue. “I know, right?”

 

Rumlow would be shipped out in less than 24 hours, back to Wakanda to face trial for the many atrocities he had committed—Not because he was brainwashed, not because he had his memory erased, but because he was Rumlow—and Bucky would be free, finally, the last string cut, the last plug pulled. He went back to his room that night and practiced sobbing silently into the pillow.

 

* * * * *

 

Natasha had to gulp down the mouthful of piping-hot coffee. It was either that or spit it out. She immediately regretted the decision and started coughing uncontrollably into the kitchen sink. “Oh my god---Oh my GOD, Steve, you did WHAT?!”

 

Steve was too busy trying to cover her mouth to be concerned about the fact that her throat was on fire. “Keep it down, Tosh!” He tried unsuccessfully to hide the heat rising to his cheeks and Natasha giggled in spite of the pain.

 

“That is so sweet---that’s fucking adorable. Oh my GOD”, she rasped as she held her throat. “I should have been able to guess. I mean, you’re obsessed with the guy. Oh man…Hey, is that why you wouldn’t go out with Gail from Yoga class?”

 

“No that’s not why I wouldn’t go out with Gail from Yoga class!”

 

“Oh my GOD it totally IS, isn’t it, Rogers, you sly DOG!” She bumped her elbow into his.

 

“Hey watch it,” He warned, smiling in spite of himself. He tried to hide his steaming-red face with the coffee can and she tore it away.

 

“What is what now?” Of  *course* at that particular moment, Tony *had* to come sauntering in around the corner.

 

“Nothing—“

 

Steve’s grumble was quickly interrupted by Natasha’s guileless squeal. “STEVE KISSED BUCKY!”

 

Tony stiffened like a board, his perfectly sarcastic smirk craning into a look of bewilderment.

 

“TOSH!”

 

Natasha clamped a ringed hand over her own mouth. “Sorry…”

 

Tony’s dark eyelashes fluttered and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Well. Okay then. Uhm. Congratulations?”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sam muttered from behind Steve, who was busy trying to melt into the floorboards from sheer embarrassment. “Bucky didn’t take it so well apparently.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “So…”

 

“Ohmygod,” Steve groaned, slapping a hand over his face. “Is everybody in on my personal life?”

 

Tony raised his hand. “Uhm. Not me. Nope. I’d like to get clued in, here.”

 

“This is PERFECT,” Natasha said, suddenly grabbing Steve’s shoulders in a grip like a gorilla and bouncing up and down. “You guys can have a spring wedding. In May—“

 

“Naw, June is when all the fashionable weddings take place,” Sam helped.

 

“Yes!” Natasha squealed. “Yes and the lilacs will be in season! And we can have big bouquets of lilacs running up and down the aisle—“

 

“Nope, can’t be lilacs. Too fragrant. Agent Coulson is allergic,” Tony intervened.

 

“Well, *Agent Coulson* can wait for us at the reception hall. He can hand out the party favors.”

 

“That’s a great idea!” Sam chimed in, throwing an arm around Steve’s slumping shoulders. “They can say “Mr. and Mr. Rogers…or will it be, Mr. and Mr. Barnes?”

 

“Well, I think naturally, Cap should take Bucky’s name…” Tony leisurely sipped at his martini, ignoring Steve’s horrified glare.

 

“No way,” Sam argued. “Cap is the dude in this relationship. Plus, it’s Cap, you know?”

 

“What rock did you crawl out of, Sam?”, Natasha barked. “They’re both “dudes”!”

 

“Wait, who’s a dude?” Clint strolled in, taking a seat at the counter and biting into his energy bar.  

 

“Stop it, guys!” Steve half/giggled, half/shrieked as Sam held him steadily in place. “And I’m not “Cap” any more.”

 

The laughter fell dead. Sam’s arm slipped from around Steve and Natasha looked away.

 

“Wow, Steve.” Tony took another swig. “Ninety-five and you’re still the life of the party.” Within moments, everyone retreated to their separate corners, the lighthearted mood fizzling out and leaving a bitter sadness so tangible Steve could almost taste it on his tongue.

 

“Tony.” He touched his shoulder just as he turned to leave. “C’mon. Stay.”

 

“And do what, Rogers? Sit and talk about ‘our feelings’?”

 

Steve shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

 

Tony shifted his feet, leaning away just enough to break the contact. “Especially not lately. But no, I don’t think so. I’d rather not mend what’s left of our so-called friendship just so I can pretend that you won’t disappear the second your house arrest is up.”

 

Steve looked as if he had just received a punch to the gut. “The choice I made was a personal one. It had nothing to do with you. With any of you.”

 

“Well…” Tony finished off his drink and stared down into the empty glass. He swallowed hard. “…maybe it should have.”

 

* * * * *

 

There was a small, tattered racetrack just outside the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound. It was fenced in and surrounded by razor wire and military-grade surveillance, and as such was within in the parameters of the “house-arrest”. His feet had already worn the pavement down to gravel, but it was a change from the sterile office smell of the tower and a chance to get away from the disdainful looks of his team-mates. Well…ex-teammates.

 

It was a good, healthy escape. He didn’t have to think about the weight on his shoulders if he was focusing on the cold sting of concrete beneath his feet and the burn in his legs. It was good. It felt good. It kept his mind off what was going on inside. He didn’t have to dwell on the huge disappointment he had apparently become. Didn’t have to think about Tosh, about Tony, or even about Bucky.

 

He didn’t have to.

 

Doesn’t mean he didn’t.

 

He couldn’t get the taste of Bucky’s mouth off his lips—the scent of his hair or the way Bucky had cupped his face, so desperate and hungry, the wetness of the tears dotting Steve’s lashes as he finally, _finally_ , did what he had been meaning to do—what he had been aching to do—since they were kids. Steve stumbled on a rock that wasn’t there and his knee crushed the ground. The sting of the blow took a second to register, but Steve threw a punch at the ground and grunted as he stood up.

 

_Fucking coward._

 

He picked up the pace.

 

So, it had not gone as planned. So, Bucky had popped him in the face and swore at him and refused to talk to him. So fucking what? He had already given up his position in the Avengers. Was he just going to give up on Bucky, too?

 

Steve would sit with his back to Bucky’s door at night. Just knowing Bucky was safe was enough, for now. He would touch his lips and fall asleep just dreaming about that kiss. Oh, who the hell was he kidding? It was never enough. He had to try, once more, as many “one-more” times as it took to get Bucky to acknowledge him.

 

The heat rose to his face and he veered right, turning down the alcove that would bring him back up to the Tower. That was when he noticed a hooded figure in the stands. He glanced up, swallowing down the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat, as he met the sad, silver-gray eyes framed by shaggy brown hair and the cigarette that hung loosely and unlit from his mouth.

 

Bucky stood up and Steve jogged the way up the steps, keeping a row of steps between them, hesitant to scare Bucky off.

 

“I went to see him today,” Bucky muttered.

 

Steve’s heart fluttered wildly in his chest.  “Rumlow?”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“What…what did he say?” (Steve suppressed the urge to ask why the hell he had gone to see his former captor)

 

Bucky plucked the cigarette from his lips and rolled it between his fingers. His arm was fully healed, now. He kept his metal hand buried in his pocket. “Same shit he always says. Barking like a scared dog at the end of his leash.”

 

Steve couldn’t stop a satisfied,  look from crossing his face. “He is pure evil.”

 

Bucky’s eyes flashed and he bit down on his lip, looking out across the oval track. “Maybe.” The two paused for a moment, letting the distant sounds of New York traffic fill the void between them. “They’re going to erase him, Steve.” Sadness curved the edges of his mouth.

 

Steve’s brow creased.

 

“They’re going to put his brain in a blender and erase everything.”

 

“It’s what he deserves.” Steve said the words softly, trying to dull the hardness in his voice mid-sentence.

 

Bucky paused. “Maybe.”

 

Steve stepped over the cement step, coming face to face with Bucky, bewilderment and confusion clouding his better judgement. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’, Buck? The guy is pure evil. He has killed hundreds, maybe thousands. Probably more than we will ever know about. He took you and he hurt you and I’m sorry, but…” Steve shook his head. “I can’t forgive him for that.”

 

The same look that was on Bucky’s face when he punched Steve was back now—the sharp, wild snarl and defiant glare as he peered across at him. “I am glad it’s so black and white for you,” he hissed.

 

“It is.” Steve straightened his back.

 

“They’re going to do the same thing to him as Hydra did to me, you know that? He is being punished for the exact same crimes I was just acquitted of. Fuck. I was right there along-side him as he did most of it. 90% of the time, I was the one pulling the trigger.”

 

“It wasn’t _you,_ though, Buck.” Steve’s fingers reached for Bucky’s sleeve, giving it a tug. “You were brainwashed—“

 

“What if I wasn’t?” Bucky tossed his head back, cinnamon hair spilling out as the hood slid down. “What if I told you it was all _me,_ this time, Steve? That I was in full control. That I knew what I was doing?...what if I just … _liked_ it?”

 

Steve pulled Bucky forward, closing the strained gap between them, aching to once again smell that same smell that enveloped him when they kissed. “I _know_ you, Buck.”

 

Bucky’s eyes drifted downward, letting his bangs partially hide them.

 

Steve moved in closer, the familiar scent drifting up into his nostrils and instantly soothing his raw nerves. “ _I know you.”_  He moved his hand into Bucky’s hair, tugging at a loose strand and ignoring the threatening glare that it earned him. He tilted his head, his expression soft and caring. “Can I just ask you one thing?”

 

“Shoot.”

 

Steve’s fingers began to tremble and he quickly pulled away, hoping to hide it before Bucky noticed. Too late. Bucky let out a soft snicker and shook his head a little. Steve swallowed, the sides of his throat sticking together for lack of moisture. “When…when you pulled away. You said, “not after all this time.” What did you mean by that?”

 

Bucky let out a flustered sigh and shifted his weight, reaching his flesh hand back to scrub the nape of his neck. “You really are an idiot, you do know that, right?”  His gaze drifted back to the track and the obvious rut Steve’s bare feet had created in the center of the concrete. “Besides...doesn’t matter anymore.”

 

Steve’s hand clenched around Bucky’s and Bucky’s gaze shot upward as he drew back into himself. “Bucky…did we…did we ever have a chance? I mean, together?”

 

There came that muted snort again, followed by a cool grin that looked more like a grimace. “Nah.”

 

Steve winced.

 

Bucky didn’t seem to take notice. “What would your Mom have said? Her two favorite boys rolling around on that ratty twin bed of yours?”

 

“Then tell me,” Steve murmured, closing any airspace between them, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears as he leaned in, his lips hovering mere inches from Bucky’s, taking in the scent of tobacco that so reminded him of their lost Brooklyn days, when Bucky would sneak a smoke on the porch and Steve’s Mom caught him, every time. “Tell me you never thought about it. Tell me it never crossed your mind, Buck. That it didn’t mean anything to you. And I’ll let it go. I promise.”

 

Bucky’s eyes glittered with bitter tears. He let out a shuddering breath and the corners of his mouth pulled up into a tight, defensive smile. “I can’t tell you that, pal.”

 

“I know.” Steve gave his hand a tight squeeze and drifted away after a pause, giving Bucky back his personal space and running a hand through his bright blond hair.

 

Bucky slid back down into the concrete stand and they took turns staring off into the distance. “So, where does that leave us?” Bucky stared at muscles of Steve’s shoulders as he shrugged them, watched Steve’s hands ball up into fists in his jean pockets.

 

“Wherever you’ll let me, Buck. That’s where I want to be. Whoever you need me to be, I’ll be that too. You saved my life more times than I can count and I’ll be damned if I am giving up on you.” Steve glanced over his shoulder, a tear shamelessly rolling down one side of his face, cool blue eyes boring holes into Bucky’s head. “You’re my everything, Buck.”

 

Bucky swallowed, his lips parting slightly. “I know.” Bucky’s hand reached for Steve, this time, the metal one. Cold against Steve’s face as they both simultaneously breathed outward, shaky, rattling breaths of frigid New York air. Bucky leaned in and Steve’s stomach jumped into his chest, disbelieving the feel of the satiny cupid’s bow that pressed softly against his upper lip.

 

Steve’s mouth fell open and he dragged Bucky’s scent in, nipping lovingly at the pouty bottom lip that tickled the corners of his mouth. “Jesus, Buck,” he sighed. His tree-trunk biceps wrapped around Bucky’s back, pressing him in close, sealing their chests together as he circled a thumb around Bucky’s cheek, gathering the tangible evidence Steve needed to convince himself that _yes_ this was happening and _yes_ this was real and _yes_ Bucky _yes yes yes._

“What took you so long?” Bucky moaned, inhaling sharply as his tongue jutted out against Steve’s pouty bottom lip, wriggling to get inside.

 

“Mmmhh.” Steve obliged, tasting tobacco and thyme and a hint of hot cocoa. He shifted their hips together, muttering a flustered, “sorry” when his bulge sprang to life and mashed against Bucky’s thigh.

 

“Shhh.” Bucky’s fingers cascaded down the tight tee-shirt fabric of Steve’s wide back, drawing little circles with his nails/metal fingers and tugging the bottom loose from the waistband of his jeans.

 

Steve shuddered as the cold metallic sparks grazed his hot skin underneath the shirt and he mimicked the motion on Bucky, slithering freely under the loose hoodie and relishing in the soft laugh it produced from Bucky. “Sorry,” he repeated, forcing himself to break off the kiss upon realizing that he was panting so hard he was about to pass out. His hands stayed, however, locked into Bucky’s warmth and the feel of the hardened stomach muscles that Steve had spent hours admiring but never daring to touch. Their foreheads pressed together as they both caught their breath and breathed, laughed softly, and sighed against each other.

 

At last and forever, back where they belonged.

 

 

 


End file.
